


Agency

by TomFooleryPrime



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Discovery, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Angst, Complicated Relationships, Concubine, Contracts, F/M, Fuck Or Die, Healing Sex, Lovers to Friends, Mind Meld, Pon Farr, Porn With Plot, Sex for Favors, Smut, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:02:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22002751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TomFooleryPrime/pseuds/TomFooleryPrime
Summary: When a spouse dies or an arranged marriage falls through, many Vulcan men find themselves on borrowed time as their next pon farr approaches. When Sera’s own betrothal dissolves, she’s drawn into a network of secretive agencies that pair unattached women with vulnerable men and she soon finds herself deep in negotiations to exchange lifesaving sex with a complete stranger for the opportunity at a better life. Business is business on Vulcan, the land of dirty little open secrets.
Relationships: Original Vulcan Character(s)/Original Character(s)
Comments: 216
Kudos: 390





	1. The Applicant

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KerryLamb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KerryLamb/gifts).



> I seriously considered creating a new account to post this because it's so different than anything I've ever written. It's my first attempt to write in first person, which I'm still not entirely comfortable with. It's also my first attempt to write a true smut story, which makes me nervous on how it'll be received.

My parents had an arrangement. Depending on what planet you call home, you might suppose my parents existed in a loveless marriage and stayed together for their children, or perhaps you think my parents found love outside their union but remained married for convenience. On Vulcan, an arrangement is something else entirely, deeply embedded in our culture and essential to our way of life. They're as common as sand and no one ever speaks of them.

I found myself sitting in an imposing lobby virtually free of décor or identifying marks, under the judgmental eye of the lone receptionist at the desk, waiting to make a similar arrangement for myself. Strange to think it had come to this.

"Sera?" The woman's voice was cool and commanding.

I rose to my feet and turned to discover the figure matched the voice exactly. She was tall, lean, and extremely handsome, perhaps thirty, perhaps seventy. Vulcans are so fortunate to be in the prime of their lives for decades, unlike other species such as Tellarites who can only claim to have maybe only fifteen or twenty good years of optimal beauty and health.

I didn't respond because what was there to say? I glanced at the infochip in my palm again before quickly shoving it in my pocket. It was the reason I was here.

"Follow me," she said, her tone half inviting, half commanding.

Her low heels clicked rapid staccato notes on the hard floor as she led me down a short, narrow hallway into a sterile-looking room that contained a petite conference table and six chairs. She motioned for me to sit and I selected a spot near the window overlooking the busy highway below.

"Before we begin, you must consent to a confidentiality agreement," the woman announced, taking a seat next to me and sliding a PADD noiselessly across the table's smooth surface.

"I had thought I already did."

"That was the agreement sent out with your initial questionnaire, indicating you understood we would not release your information to any outside parties. This agreement ensures you will not speak of anything we discuss here today, with particular emphasis on maintaining the privacy of the clients in our databases. The penalties for non-compliance can be quite severe."

I skimmed the document, acknowledging the part about forfeiting half my salary for ten years to pay reparations to any men whose identities I might reveal. What did it matter? A primary reason I was here was because I was currently unemployed and half of zero was still zero.

I signed it with minimal hesitation or ceremony and slid the device back to her. She nodded and purred, "Let us begin."

"Can I ask your name?" It seemed inappropriate to interrupt, but it also seemed odd to carry on the very strange conversation we were about to have without at least some tiny measure of intimacy between us.

"My name is unimportant." She spoke with such finality that I didn't dare press the issue. "Now, tell me why you're here."

"I already submitted the questionnaire," I replied.

"And that tells me _what_ you hope to gain from an arrangement, but not _why_ you would seek one."

"Have you thought about including that in your questionnaire to improve efficiency?" I asked.

The corners of her mouth twitched, almost as if she were threatening to smile. Not that she would. No self-respecting _logical_ Vulcan would.

"I prefer to ask people to describe it in person, to ensure that the words are theirs. A questionnaire gives the opportunity to collect background information, but an interview requires extemporaneous reflection, which I find very useful in assessing sincerity."

"Are you asking if someone's making me do this?"

" _Is_ someone making you do this?"

"No." And that was the truth. But the thought that people could be traded into arrangements like commodities was very shocking. "Is that a thing that happens very often?"

"Not at this agency, particularly because we screen our male clients and female applicants so thoroughly. However, I cannot speak for some of the less reputable agencies, particularly the ones that handle interspecies relationships."

"What makes your agency so respectable?"

"Mine is one of thousands all over the planet. I have developed quite a reputation for successful matches between ambitious younger women and well-established men who help their female partners achieve their goals."

I swallowed hard. It was a difficult thing to admit that that was exactly what I wanted. It would be illogical to deny it, but I wasn't fond of how detached and transactional it sounded when stated aloud. "What kinds of arrangements do other agencies handle?"

Her face went blank and she offered a small shrug. "There are agencies for any and every taste. Older women seeking younger men, same sex arrangements, interspecies arrangements, arrangements where both partners have unusual proclivities. For any relationship or fetish you can conceive, I can assure you there are agencies that exist to make arrangements on its behalf. However, based on your questionnaire, I had thought my agency would be well-suited to your interests."

I could feel my face growing hot. "I am certain it will be adequate."

The woman nodded. "Good. Now, why are you seeking an arrangement?"

"I graduated from the Vulcan Science Academy five months ago with an advanced degree in molecular biology and it's been very difficult to find meaningful employment."

"I understand your motivation for coming here, but why seek an arrangement? Were you not betrothed as a child?"

"I was, but we were incompatible." I tried to suppress my annoyance. This information was all contained in the questionnaire that she held in her hands.

"Can you explain why you were mismatched?"

"He grew older and discovered he preferred men. Such things are hardly unheard of."

"True, but why seek an arrangement for yourself when you could visit a matchmaking agency and find a more suitable husband?"

"I have no interest in being anyone's wife."

"Are you opposed to the concept of marriage?"

"No. I believe it works well for many people, but it is not what I want."

"Why?"

Her deeply personal questions were beginning to grate. In most other situations, such an interrogation would be outrageous, but the purpose for my visit was quite out of the ordinary. I composed myself as best I could, considered my words, and eventually said, "I have never met anyone worth marrying. I prefer a career in science to domesticity."

"Your questionnaire states that you yourself were the product of an arrangement."

"I was. I would like to have something similar for myself."

"Clarify."

"My mother had an arrangement with my father. They did not live together or associate with one another outside of pon farr. My mother preferred to raise us without his interference and my father preferred to let her."

"Do you know who your father is?"

"I do."

"Have you met him?"

"I met him once when I was very young, before I was old enough to understand he came from a very old and respected family and wouldn't dare risk being publicly associated with illegitimate children. He eventually did marry someone and terminated the arrangement with my mother, but he provided a respectable living for my her, myself, and my brother even after he married. His connections helped me get into the Vulcan Science Academy."

"If his connections were sufficient to secure you an education, why could he not also help you obtain employment?"

Her question was practical and innocent, but it tore through me like shrapnel. "My mother always managed those things and served as an intermediary between us."

"And your mother is recently deceased." She said it in an imprecise way that could have rendered it either a question or an accusation.

It was becoming harder to control my emotions. My mother always said I was more emotional than most. "Yes."

"Have you considered approaching your father?"

"No." I responded much too quickly to avoid the appearance of neutrality. "No. The truth is, I am not certain his new wife knows he ever had an arrangement with my mother, or whether she was ever informed that I or my brother even exist."

I stopped just short of admitting that the woman in question was also human. Vulcans may not publicly approve of arrangements, but at least they _understand_. How could a human woman ever understand what pon farr would drive people to do?

"I see. So you would prefer an arrangement where you meet with your partner only once every seven years to assist him in resolving his pon farr."

"Yes."

"And your questionnaire mentions you wish to have children."

"Yes," I replied, wondering what she could possibly be learning from reading the information on my questionnaire back to me. "One or two. Once my career is established."

"And do you wish for the partner we find for you to father them?"

"If he agrees. If he doesn't, I am content to use other means. I merely thought it would be more efficient, if I am already going to engage in occasional sexual intercourse with someone, to save myself the time and expense of visiting a fertility clinic."

"Logical," she agreed. "Is it also logical to assume that similar to your mother's arrangement, you would expect financial maintenance from your partner?"

"Only to support any children we might have."

"Would you object to a partner who already has children?"

"I have not fully considered that possibility," I confessed. I thought for a moment and added, "I have very few requirements. I do not care what he does in his daily life, so long as he is a decent Vulcan. Due to the nature of the limited arrangement I am seeking, I can conceive of no way I would be expected to help raise any existing children he might have, so whether or not he has children is of no concern to me. If he does have children, I only care to know that he treats them well and provides for them if they are minors."

"Many of our clients are of an age where there children have reached the age of majority," she replied. "It does bear mentioning that you did not give a specific age range you were comfortable with for a partner."

I reflected on the curious nature of Vulcan longevity. Vulcan females were generally fertile for approximately twelve decades, with childbearing years beginning in the late teens and often lasting to the age of 140 or just beyond. Vulcan males remained fertile for virtually their entire lives beyond puberty and had been known to father children even past the age of two hundred.

Other species must have found it strange for a person to have uncles and aunts that are considerably younger than they were. Many Vulcans waited until their forties to begin their families, but it was not uncommon for people to even have _great_ -grandchildren that were senior to some of their own children, nor was it necessarily unheard of for five generations of one family to be reproducing at the same time.

I cleared my throat, unsure how best to explain I didn't want to end up with a teenage boy or an elderly man. Was it shallow to hope for someone close to my age, or at least not more than twice my age?

"I realize the interview is becoming difficult now that we are discussing more specific attributes of potential partners," she eventually remarked. "This process is designed to be as logical as possible and free of shame. My questions are not intended to cause discomfort but they _are_ necessary. We will all be better served by your honesty regarding what you want."

"I suppose I would accept anyone from twenty to sixty."

"We have very few clients younger than forty," the woman replied. "As I explained, this agency primarily deals with influential men willing to assist younger women attain personal and professional goals. Very few men under forty could boast such power."

I had no data to confirm was she was saying, but it seemed likely to be true.

"Would you be willing to expand the age range of potential partners?" the woman pressed.

I raced through the possibilities, trying to keep my considerations logical rather than superficial, but I kept coming back to the idea that most men began to sport at least a few gray hairs by their nineties and the thought of being with someone who _looked_ old enough to be my grandfather did not appeal to me. "I suppose forty to one hundred would be acceptable."

The muscles in her face relaxed. "We have many clients in that range."

My curiosity gnawed at me and found a voice before she could ask her next question. I blurted, "Do you have many clients beyond that interval?"

"Our oldest current client is 187 years-old." Whatever effort I made to control my facial expressions must have failed spectacularly because the woman added, "Pon farr is a lifelong affliction and many men never outgrow it. There are a number of advantages to accommodating an older partner."

"Explain."

"I am told that many men who have reached late adulthood do not need to mate nearly as many times to resolve their pon farr; some may only need to mate once. Additionally, I am informed they are considerably less… _enthusiastic_ in their exertions than their younger counterparts. Are you perhaps open to considering someone more mature?"

I didn't immediately answer because, how _could_ I? The woman seemed to take my silence for legitimate contemplation and continued to promote the concept. "The particular man I referenced earlier has a substantial property in Gol, as well as a house in the city. He is the last of his family and there are no other claimants to his estate. He has agreed to bequeath everything to any woman who agrees to mate with him."

As shocking as the notion was, I thought it would be illogical not to at least _consider_ it. At 187, it was likely the man only had one pon farr cycle left, or perhaps two, if he were in exceptional health. A few hours or less on my back in exchange for my own private estate in Gol? It was such a minimal commitment, but I could not evict the thought from my mind of a thin, frail body thrusting away on top of me.

Too polite to refuse outright, I asked, "Do you not think that particular kind of arrangement is too exploitive?"

"It would be illogical not to concede that virtually all arrangements have a degree of exploitation. Many men would offer anything for the chance to prolong their lives, but in most cases, women have all the power. You have the freedom to choose a partner, while the men can do little but wait to be chosen by anyone and avoid death."

"But do you not think there is a degree of inequity? A man with a sizable estate or considerable influence is likely to attract more offers than someone with nothing."

"At this agency, yes," she confessed. "But as I said, there are many agencies in existence and many men seeking a partner will eventually find one."

"But not all?"

"There are far more men in need than people willing to assist them," she admitted. "Sometimes men do die waiting for a partner."

It was perhaps one of the most sobering things anyone had ever said to me and suddenly my purpose here took on an entirely different meaning. I wouldn't be offering my body out of a sense of charity, but no matter how unsavory arrangements were, the truth was they saved lives.

"Would you consider assisting more than one of our clients?"

"Multiple arrangements?"

"They are not as uncommon as you may suspect. We have several female clients who currently have more than ten standing arrangements."

" _Ten_?" I repeated, unable to conceal the surprise in my voice.

"That is a large number," the woman agreed. "But while nearly a quarter of our female clients are engaged in relationships with multiple men, the average number of partners among that demographic is only approximately three."

"What if I just started with one?" I finally replied, certain that one would be more than enough.

"Very well." Her finger slid over the slick surface of the PADD, scrolling through my completed survey in preparation to ask more awkward questions, questions I had likely already answered on her very extensive form but for whatever reason, she preferred to hear me answer aloud.

"In addition to not selecting an age range, you have also not listed any physical qualities you seek in a partner."

I wasn't sure what an appropriate response was. If the relationship were truly a practical matter of mating in exchange for professional advancement, wouldn't it be logical for me to seek out the youngest, healthiest, handsomest, most influential partner I could find, particularly if I were interested in having children with him? I would almost certainly not get _everything_ I wanted, but which was the most important of those attributes?

"I do not have any specific preferences," I began, the words falling from my mouth in a trickle. "I have no real expectation that he needs to be excessively attractive. I believe I am generally open to almost anyone, but I won't know what I prefer until I have an idea of what my options are."

The woman gave a small nod. "Then I believe I have enough information to proceed. You are an exceptionally qualified applicant and you have already been successfully matched with many partners."

 _Many_ was a very imprecise term. "Can you be more specific?"

"We pre-screened your questionnaire with our client database and found 2,126 compatible partners."

I could feel the color draining from my face but I forced my features to remain locked in the classically neutral expression my people were so famous for. Still, more than two _thousand_ men? Maybe it would have been logical to be more specific after all.

"But I am allowed to make the final decision?" I asked, desperate for reassurance.

"After your physical examination, we will analyze your genetic profile to find matches that will eliminate the possibility of consanguineous relationships, as well as enhance the genetic diversity of our population, and ensure you produce children free of genetic defects that are incompatible with life. The process is very similar to the one children are subjected to when their parents seek out suitable mates for them during adolescence."

"But how do you recommend I narrow my options?" I asked. "The genetic analysis is likely to eliminate only a small fraction of the candidates."

"We use a specific algorithm to sort our clients based on location and urgency of need. Then we take your questionnaire and genetic results into consideration and identify the ten most compatible matches, which will be presented to you in a dossier."

"And I have to choose from those?"

"If you do not find anyone suitable, we will offer you the next ten candidates based on your compatibility assessment."

"And what happens after that? Am I allowed to meet them to help me decide?"

"You may meet with any of them during the decision-making process, so long as they consent."

"Why would they _not_ consent?" I probed. "Their lives are at stake. We're agreeing to mate with each other."

"Our service exists to pair people with similar objectives. We provide agents such as myself to screen the applicants, solicitors to draw up contracts, and physicians to ensure both parties are healthy enough to engage in sexual activity and are free of any sexually transmitted diseases, but the arrangements themselves are handled between the partners. Some people do prefer anonymity and agree to mate without ever knowing the other person's identity."

"They may not know one another's names, but they would still have to interact with each other," I protested. "They would still _see_ one another."

The woman cocked an eyebrow. "Occasionally we have clients who stipulate the use of masks or costumes or poor illumination as part of their agreement. We once had a man who constructed an elaborate box with a small hole so he could mate with his partner with as little physical contact as possible. Is that something you would be interested in?"

"No," I replied, unwilling to even spend a moment contemplating the idea of shutting myself away in a box or wearing a bag over my head. "I do want an impersonal and infrequent arrangement, but I also wish to know who he is."

The woman nodded and murmured, "I had thought that would be your answer, but I simply wish to remind you we serve to accommodate any reasonable request."

I suspected our definitions of _reasonable_ might differ, but I said nothing further. She escorted me to a room across the hall where I was greeted by a stout woman in a physician's uniform. The walls were lined with medical paraphernalia and the center of the room boasted an examination biobed.

She took two vials of blood and instructed me to lie flat on my back as the bed scanned my anatomy. The doctor read the results in real time, commenting on my textbook blood pressure, the typical shape and location of my uterus, and the ordinary size and function of each of my reproductive organs and glands. After a full accounting of my primary and secondary sex characteristics determined everything was present and correct, she gave me the results of my blood tests. I was free of sexually transmissible diseases and also not currently pregnant—two facts which failed to surprise me given my lifelong dedication to celibacy.

She instructed me to return to the small conference room. I walked slowly, suddenly aware I was struggling under some newfound emotional weight that months of meditation would probably fail to purge. I gazed out the window at the traffic below, grateful for the tinted sun shielding on the aluminum glass. It prevented harsh UV rays from entering the room, but it also kept anyone outside from looking in.

I didn't want anyone to see me. There should be no shame in what I was doing, but there was. I was agreeing to exchange my body in return for tangible favors. Tellarites would call this sinful. Humans would call it prostitution. The specific word for it in my native tongue is bol-zehlaya. In ancient Vulcan, the term suggests a thing that is a necessary evil, but in modern parlance the word has a distinctly sexual connotation. I do not believe there is any close approximation in Standard other than the word _arrangement_.

I suppressed a smile as I recalled a State of the Federation address several years ago in which the Federation president praised the establishment of a trade agreement between the Federation and the Nausicaans, but instead of using the term to describe a _diplomatic_ agreement, ekhartalaya, the universal translator substituted boh-zehlaya, which every Vulcan knew implied a sexual agreement. It raised more than a few eyebrows across my homeworld when the broadcast aired and I like to imagine the countless Vulcan parents who were forced to sit their children down and explain what it meant.

No doubt it was very uncomfortable for them to explain because all aspects of sexuality are as repressed as our emotions. Pon farr, sexual intercourse, pregnancy, and childbirth are all regarded as very natural things, but they also seem to be things Vulcans would prefer to close their eyes and endure out of necessity rather than embrace as part of the cycle of life. I felt uneasy and tried to steady myself, but I couldn't shake the sense I was making a mistake, resigning myself to this kind of scorned relationship rather than a legitimate marriage.

Then I recalled the woman's implication that there were at least several thousand men waiting for someone to help resolve their pon farr. I had never felt so fortunate to be female and thus spared from having to experience that regrettable condition. As unseemly as arrangements were, they _were_ necessary for approximately ten percent of the population who was widowed or unbonded. My actions would save someone's life and do it in a way that would prevent me from being obliged to play the tedious role of wife. I would be free to pursue science and raise my children as I saw fit, just as my mother had done. How I missed her!

The door slid open, startling me out of my reverie. The woman returned with a PADD in her hand and an eerie, mildly pleased expression on her face. I returned to my seat and waited for the verdict.

"I have identified ninety-four highly viable candidates, both in terms of your preferences and genetic compatibility. Here is the dossier of the top matches." She turned the PADD so I could see it.

The first man was quite handsome and I was almost tempted to choose him based on this alone, especially considering the woman's algorithm had specified he was "highly viable." In an effort to avoid appearing too eager, I read his limited biography, noting he was a fifty-six-year-old civil engineer with no children and a family history of myopia. The next man had a plainer face and a shorter stature but was the principal investigator of a well-respected laboratory at Shi'Kahr Academy. If my interests really were primarily professional advancement, he would be a better option than the handsome engineer.

They were all perfectly adequate and in theory, everything I had been looking for. Yet somehow, none of them seemed quite correct.

"Is there a logical way to choose?" I asked, looking up at the woman.

"I have found it best to choose the one you like best."

"What happens to the ones I don't choose?" I stopped on the biography of a sixty-three-year-old astrophysics professor whose need was classified as an emergency, meaning he would die within a month if no suitable partner was found.

"Do you intend to choose all of them?"

I swallowed hard. I couldn't deny the thought was beginning to cross my mind, if only for their sakes. Unfortunately, these were only the top ten most compatible candidates out of a field of ninety-four, a field that had been narrowed down from more than two thousand. How could I possibly subject myself to mating with _all_ of them? It would destroy me physically and mentally.

"Each of these men would have their condition regardless of whether or not you elected to help," she added. "You are in a position to assist at least one of them, but _your_ life matters also. Even choosing one is a generous contribution and will make a significant difference."

I flipped from the ninth biography to the tenth, startled by the sheer lack of information on the last page. It simply read _male, eighty-four years, politician and molecular biologist_. His need was also classified as an emergency. "Is this all the information for the last one?"

The woman's brow flicked upward. "This client is an extremely notable public figure and for that reason, he has elected to limit his biography, though if you are seriously considering him, he is willing to meet with you."

"How could I be interested in someone based on so little information?"

"You had expressed an interest in career promotion and a desire for a man to discreetly father your children. This man is very well-positioned to provide for your children and if you truly desire a career in molecular biology, this man would be _extremely_ helpful in assisting you to realize your goals. Perhaps more than any other client in my database."

"Then can I meet him?"

"I can arrange that, though he has asked that any potential partners first be pre-screened through his aide."

"Aide?" I repeated. "Would I know who he is if he came himself?"

"How closely do you follow politics?" she asked.

"As much as any average citizen, I suppose."

"Then you will know exactly who he is."

That was certainly something to think about. I motioned to the PADD and asked, "Can I have some privacy to read the biographies again and consider my options?"

She gave me a deferential nod and excused herself. I went back and forth, studying the pictures that nine of the ten had provided and agonizing over who was the most logical choice. A medical doctor. An award-winning chemist. Each was more logical than the last. They were _all_ logical. They were all people. They had lives, friends, and loved ones, but circumstances had left them quite alone and grappling with a devastating, life-threatening condition. How could I reasonably choose?

When the door opened again a short time later, I was stunned to discover that two hours had passed. "Have you made a decision?"

"No." The defeat was heavy in my voice. 

"Would you find it helpful to know that according to the computer, you spent three times as much time studying the tenth candidate's biography, despite it containing the least amount of information?"

It did not surprise me. "How can I choose a man when I don't even know what he looks like?"

"If I recall correctly, you said you had no preference regarding physical traits and insisted the purpose of this arrangement was to secure a better future for yourself."

I gazed into her black, shiny eyes and bobbed my head. I had to make a choice somehow, so why not choose the one that could stand to benefit me the most? "Then he'll do."


	2. The Politician

**_Four months earlier:  
_**Soren watched the small flames lick the blackened, crumbling corpses of wood. A few of the coals still glowed, but now it was mostly ash and bits of bone. He wanted to weep, but eight decades of training in logic would not permit it, especially not in a public place.

Emotion wasn't logical, but grief was only natural. He had loved T'Mona for sixty-four years. He had built a life with her. Now all that was left of her smoldered at his feet. Intermittent drafts carried some of the debris from the pyre, sprinkling the countryside with tiny bits of charred particulate. She was going back into the soil as carbon, ready to feed a new generation of flora and start the cycle of life anew. That idea was of little comfort to his broken heart.

"Father?"

Soren turned from T'Mona's funeral pyre to find his middle son, Volkar, standing several paces behind him. He had been so consumed by his anguish that he hadn't even heard him approach. He wanted to say something to his son, but what could be said between a husband who had lost his wife and a son who had lost his mother? Somehow, Volkar found the strength to utter the most suitable words possible. "She will be dearly missed."

Soren's chin quivered, but he kept the effusion of pain at bay and nodded in agreement. "Have the others gone?"

"They are with the rest of the funeral party now."

"We should join them," he mused, not because he really wanted to leave his wife's ashes, but because it was the appropriate thing to do.

"We should stay as long as we like," Volkar replied.

Soren nodded. His middle son had always been something of an enigma to him, a creature so much like T'Mona and nothing at all like him. More open, more optimistic, more emotional. He had tried to train those things out of him when he was a boy, to forge him into a harder, sterner adolescent who would grow to become a proper, logical Vulcan man, but most of his efforts had fallen slightly short. Still, he was grateful to have such a person to commiserate with now, and even if Volkar hadn't grown to be the person Soren had hoped, he was still deeply proud of his son.

Several minutes of silence transpired, with each passing second fraying his emotions further. He was angry at his wife's murder. He was so sad he would never get to lie naked next to her in bed and smell the gentle scent of her hair as he woke in the morning. He was devastated that her katra had been extinguished in an act of violence and so she was truly gone forever. It was too much to bear.

"I grieve for my mother, but I hope you have no intention of following her and requiring me to grieve for my father as well," Volkar said at long last.

Soren could not deny the thought had crossed his mind many times in recent days. He turned to observe his son's expression. "My children are grown and I have accomplished many things. If I were to die today, I would not be disappointed with the story of my life."

"You are still young, father. There will be better days than this."

Logically he understood this was true, but the crushing weight in his chest made such a notion seem impossible. One of the chief tenants of Vulcan philosophy was that the pursuit of a long and prosperous life was the best and most logical life one could hope for. He had lived for eighty-four years—longer than many species lived on average. Wasn't the definition of _long_ therefore purely subjective?

Whether or not he could muster the will to live would soon be irrelevant. The tremors in his hands had begun several weeks ago: faint and infrequent, but present. Two weeks ago, it had been of little concern, little more than an inconvenient annoyance because two weeks ago, he had had a wife. They would have mated regularly and the tremors would have ceased. Without her, the earliest warning sign of pon farr would plague him for the next several months until he eventually was unable to eat or sleep or control his emotions. Then he would die.

He had never experienced blood fever, the end stage of advanced pon farr, because T'Mona had always been there to help him even from the very first time. The loss of his wife devastated him, but the loss of his self-control _terrified_ him. Wouldn't it be better to go now, on his own terms?

"T'Niri is expecting a child," Volkar finally said, catching his father's eye.

This was something. A first grandchild. Rather than permit himself a brief moment of joy and wonder, all he could think about was that T'Mona would never know this next generation.

"I cannot ask you to swear to continue living, but it would please me greatly if you were alive to meet your grandson. I know mother would have wanted it."

Something was wrong with his vision. It began to blur and his eyes watered. Sensing he was at risk of openly crying, he turned away and replied, "We should go. The smoke is irritating my eyes."

"Father?"

"I do not intend to die in the immediate future. I will meet your son. I will be glad to meet him." It was a promise he wasn't certain he could keep.

Volkar exhaled a slow breath and gave his father a deferential nod. They plodded together back down the hill toward the sparse line of remaining vehicles. Each step was torment, knowing he was parting from T'Mona for the last time.

Soren bid his son goodbye and trudged toward the official ministry transport at the rear of the column of vehicles. His aide Vedek was standing next to the glimmering silver car, scanning information on his PADD. When Soren was approximately ten paces away, his diligent aide tucked the device into his breast pocket, opened the door for his superior, and soon they were gliding down the road without ever having exchanged a word.

They rode in silence for most of the journey but when they were on the outskirts of the government district, Vedek mentioned that Ambassador Sarek had inquired if he would still be able to meet with the other regents of the Vulcan Science Academy the following morning. Soren disregarded the mention of his chief rival and mumbled his assent, signaling that Vedek was free to begin discussing his upcoming schedule. He was barely listening. There was no need.

Vedek was a skilled aide and would have never planned conflicting meetings or any appearances that would have been socially or politically questionable. Whatever Vedek wanted him to do, Soren would do, and Vedek would tell him where to go and what to wear and remind him of key talking points. He could do all of those things for himself of course, but the benefits of holding such high office allowed him to pass the mental burden of such menial tasks to someone else, freeing Soren to contemplate more important matters.

As the car approached the planetary ministry and slowed in preparation to stop, Vedek mentioned the meeting with the Argelians to discuss collaboration on the construction of a broad sector array would need to be postponed due to regulatory issues, but he was confident they would be ready to begin discussions in six months. In a moment of inattention and agitation, Soren replied, "I do not expect I will be alive in six months."

The door began to automatically open, heralding their arrival at the central office, but Vedek manually overrode it and pressed it closed. Soren regretted his words immediately, but he could not unsay them. Vedek took several long seconds to reflect on his words before musing, "We have known each other a long time and I would never presume to interfere in your private business, but do you intend to die by your own hand? It is understandable that the loss of your mate—"

"I have no intention of suicide," he interrupted, preferring to keep the fact that he had at least considered it several times in recent days. Feeling peculiarly emboldened, he added, "I will die for want of a mate."

Vedek blinked several times before it became apparent he understood his employer's meaning. His face remained ever stoic, but Soren could plainly see the conflict and concern reflected in his chief advisor's dark eyes. "I do not imagine that would be a pleasant way to die."

"Nor do I," Soren quipped, barely masking the frustration in his voice.

"Would you…perhaps…consider assistance?"

Unwilling to believe that Vedek would offer to mate with him when it was apparent that neither of them had any desire for the company of another male, he asked the only other logical question. "Are you offering to assist me in committing suicide?"

"I am willing to do whatever you require of me, whether it be suicide or finding you another mate. Though I admit, I would greatly prefer the latter option."

"I do not _want_ a new mate." His jaw muscles twitched from the pressure of his tightly clenched teeth.

"No," Vedek agreed immediately. "But would you accept an arrangement?"

Soren turned his face toward the window and closed his eyes. How unsavory the thought of mating with a complete stranger in exchange for monetary benefits or other favors was. What would T'Mona think? What would she want him to do? There was no question she would want him to live, at least long enough to meet the grandson that she would never have the honor of knowing. As sordid as the whole transaction would be, it would be preferable to dying.

He whispered, "No one could ever know."

"No, of course not," Vedek conceded. "But many men, even many notable men such as yourself, have made arrangements following the loss of a mate and no one ever speaks of it or condemns them."

Soren's eyes blinked open. People _would_ know. Even if no one ever spoke a word of it, people would eventually intuit what he must have done to outlive his wife by more than a few years. He would become a slave to his biology, doomed to seedy encounters with grubbing women every seven years. How could he bear it? He had only ever been with T'Mona.

"How can I be sure these women will be discreet?"

"It would certainly be best to make an arrangement with only one woman contracted through an agency. Something long term and of a nature that would ensure she herself had proper motivation to remain silent."

Soren finally dared himself to look at his aide, whose eyes were cast toward the floor. Vedek was forty-eight and had not yet married the woman he was betrothed to. A few times he'd pondered how the young man managed it, eventually supposing his intended bride agreed to satisfy his needs without formally marrying him. It was difficult to blame women for eschewing or postponing marriage when despite centuries of reforms and progress, much of the burden of domestic life still traditionally fell to the female sex. Now however, he was beginning to suspect Vedek had an arrangement of his own.

"You speak as though you are familiar with such matters," Soren probed.

Vedek exhaled a slow breath and engaged the release to open the vehicle door. "Leave it with me, minister."

* * *

**_Present day:  
_**Soren had retreated from his high-rise apartment in the government district to his family's estate on the outskirts of Shi'Kahr two weeks earlier. The household staff was gone, sent away to avoid seeing their employer in such a dejected state. It would not do to allow rumors about his condition to leak to the press, though Soren wondered if it mattered because his weekslong absence from public life was interesting gossip in its own right.

What an interesting word _gossip_ was. It had been stolen from Standard, which had borrowed it from an older Terran language whose name Soren couldn't recall. Vuhlkansu had seized upon the word because for many centuries, there had been no formal term to describe the trading of typically unconfirmed reports about the private dealings of other people as a form of social currency. That wasn't to say Vulcans had never _done_ it prior to encountering humans, merely that no one ever spoke directly about the practice, so a single word to identify it was never needed.

Vedek had concocted a ruse about Soren simply being away at a remote monastery for a period of reflection. While some might debate the propriety of such an important member of state taking excessive personal leave, the recent loss of his wife made the story plausible and at least that story was preferable to the truth, which was that he was fast hurtling toward insanity due to unsatisfied arousal.

The healer assured him that he was still at least three weeks away from blood fever, but Soren found that difficult to believe. He was jittery, frustrated, and increasingly unable to eat or sleep. He had recently returned to his boyhood habit of manually stimulating himself, but hours and hours of stroking had only led to chafed skin and more frustration. He needed a mate, and _soon_.

He was just considering trying to meditate for the fourth time that hour when a knock on the door broke his concentration.

"What?" he barked, not even bothering to conceal his irritation.

Vedek's slim face appeared in the doorway; a PADD was clutched between his hands. "Minister, the agency has located an interested woman and she wishes to meet you."

Soren strode toward him and snatched the device from his hands, hating that his brisk action was so rude but too curious and relieved at this new development to care. The first thing he saw was her face.

Hers was heart-shaped with a pointed chin and wide set eyes, with features just symmetrical enough to be considered pretty but hardly sufficient to qualify her as beautiful in a traditional sense. Her hair was shoulder length and of a straight, stringy quality that suggested it was difficult to tame, though she'd evidently made some effort when this picture was taken. Perhaps it was her dull blue eyes or her slightly too-wide nose, but her face had a unique sort of familiarity that he couldn't pinpoint.

She was so _young_. Her biography insisted she was twenty-five, which certainly meant she was an adult woman, but he would not have been surprised to discover she were still in her late teens. She was also quite petite at only 1.6 meters tall and at 46.8 kilograms, she was less than half his body weight.

He noted she was a recent graduate of the Vulcan Science Academy, his own alma mater and an institution he currently served as one of thirteen regents for, and that her discipline was molecular biology. He decided that was why she seemed vaguely familiar: perhaps he had seen her in passing in a hallway or laboratory during one of his many visits.

This woman wanted _children_. That was certainly something to consider. He and T'Mona had been clear from the outset that his duties in politics would leave running a household and raising children almost entirely to her. T'Mona had been firm that three was the exact number of children she wanted and Soren hadn't questioned her on the size of their family, he had only helped her grow it to her requested specifications.

Rather than continue to read through her biography or take time to consider how he felt about having more children so late in life, he decided it would be illogical not to at least meet her and see if her terms were negotiable. He returned the PADD to his aide and gazed out the window at the glaring midafternoon sun.

"Will she be acceptable, minister?"

"I have reservations about her petite size and her desire to reproduce, but she will be suitable, if for no other reason than she is the only one who has made an offer."

"You still have some time and if you were willing—"

"I will not list a fuller biography. She is adequate." For weeks his aide had insisted on revealing more of himself in his profile, citing a belief that few females would feel compelled to select someone based solely on age and profession alone. But Soren would keep his privacy and dignity, even if it meant death.

"Very well, minister."

"How should I proceed now?"

"She is currently at the agency awaiting your reply. The woman I spoke with indicated she may be willing to come this afternoon."

Soren balked. He had believed he would have more time before this detestable business commenced. He did not like his descent into illogical emotionality, but nor did he relish the idea of touching any other woman than T'Mona. Though his pon farr was at least several weeks away from blood fever, he supposed it would be better to resolve it sooner rather than later, while he still had some control over his faculties. There was no need to frighten and disgust this woman with frequent bouts of crying and raging in between mating with her.

"Go meet with her," he finally replied. "I trust your judgment."

"You do not wish to come and speak with her personally?" Vedek asked. His aide was the very best of advisors, but evidently the task of selecting a concubine was too much to endure.

"I wish to remain anonymous until I no longer can. I do not trust myself to behave logically around her," he breathed, clasping his hands together to prevent them from shaking. "I fear I will repulse her."

"You will have to meet her eventually."

"I know that, but I want you to meet with her first. Gauge her character. _Go_."

Soren heard the door shut behind him and returned to the business of pacing wildly about the room and occasionally falling to his knees in a futile attempt at meaningful meditation, only now he was more frantic than before. His legs were weak and shaky, the result of a half-eaten lunch still sitting on his night stand. How long had it been since he had eaten adequate nutrition or slept more than two or three hours at a time? Several days? A week?

Eventually he drew the curtains to banish the afternoon light from his bedroom and avoid marking the passage of time by the sinking of the sun towards the horizon. He seethed and meditated, wondering what was taking Vedek so long. Was there something wrong with the woman after all? Were his hopes of salvation being shredded in some non-descript office park in central Shi'Kahr?

When the knock at his door finally did come just before sunset, it was somehow both most welcome and most unwanted. He cleared his throat and steadied his voice before saying, "Come in."

To his instant relief, it was Vedek rather than _her_. It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't even know her name. But of course his aide would have come to announce her rather than send her upstairs without warning, especially in his present condition.

"She is waiting in the entry hall."

He knew his next words ought to be to send her up, but the words caught in his throat. Why was it becoming so difficult to breathe? He saw the events of the immediate future flash before his eyes, of a young woman wandering into his bedroom and turning away in revulsion at the sight of him.

"Send her away," he croaked.

"Minister Soren—"

"She cannot be here, she cannot…she is so young. I am nearly four times her age. All of my children are older than her."

"She knows your age and she has still consented to meet you," Vedek insisted. "And at eighty-four, you are only 3.36 times her age, precisely."

"I did not hire you to correct my mathematical estimations," he growled.

"That does not alter the fact that she is here, she is waiting, and it would be illogical to not at least meet with her."

"What did you think of her?"

"I only spoke with her briefly at the agency and in the car on the journey here, but she appears to be a perfectly acceptable, even if a bit timid, young woman."

"And she understands the need for absolute discretion?"

"I believe the woman at the agency made the need for confidentiality very clear but to be sure, I took the liberty of reminding her."

Soren inhaled deeply. "Then send her in."

"Perhaps you would like to tend to your appearance first? Comb your hair and shave, for instance?"

He bobbed his head and marched toward the bathroom to check his reflection, running a hand over the stubble on his cheeks. "Permit me ten minutes, then send her in."

Soren took his time studying himself in the mirror as he ran the laser trimmer over his chin. His hair was still black and glossy with no signs of gray, though occasional flecks of silver had sprouted in his facial hair in the past decade. Subtle lines had formed at the corners of his eyes and above his brow and his face currently had a waxy pallor, likely from the stress of his condition. No one had ever accused him of being a handsome man, but his own personal assessment of his features had never determined he was unsightly either. Now he was beginning to have his doubts.

An unusual wave of nausea slapped at his stomach the moment he heard the delicate rap at the door. He straightened himself and pulled his shirt flatter across his chest, silently willing himself to have heart. This was an arrangement. Nothing more.


	3. The Aide

"He will meet with you. This afternoon, if possible."

I sat facing her and remained still and silent. It was already mid-afternoon and I was hungry. Travek, my chkariya, was probably hungry also. Several more hours of solitude in my tiny rented room would all but guarantee he would turn to gnawing on the wooden furniture. Chkariyas were such dramatic little creatures when they were bored and hungry.

"Would it be possible to meet him tomorrow? It is already so late and—"

"He is eager to meet with you today," the woman insisted. "His aide is already on his way here. As you are aware, his case is rather urgent and he is keen to see it resolved in a timely manner."

I wanted to ask, " _So urgent that he will die before sunrise if I don't meet him_?" but I kept my tongue in check, mildly afraid the answer would be yes. "When will his aide arrive?"

"I expect within the next twenty minutes. There are some matters we should discuss first." She pushed a PADD across the table in my direction. "This is a tentative copy of your arrangement contract."

"I thought you said everything was handled between the two partners themselves."

"It is. However, we produce a draft based on the information you provided about what you are seeking in an arrangement. This is a legally enforceable document."

I shot her a shrewd look. "And so if he doesn't help me get a job, I can take this to a court and demand that he does? It would destroy his reputation, but it would destroy mine also, eliminating _any_ possibility of finding future meaningful employment."

"There is a bureau within the high court that specifically handles breaches of arrangement contracts. In all my years at this agency, only once has a client sued their partner for failing to uphold an agreement. The men who come to this agency do so because of our reputation for discretion. The high court holds closed sessions and releases no transcripts of course, but it is still paneled by judges who would learn their secret if a suit was ever brought against them."

I turned my gaze down toward the table. "And if I didn't hold up my end, I would be subject to the same penalty?"

"You have the advantage of knowing he will soon die if you violate the contract, provided he doesn't find an alternative. Are you reconsidering?"

"No," I lied.

"Very well. Now typically, both interested parties negotiate and settle the contract on our premises, but this is a unique case."

"So I'm supposed to negotiate all this…with his _aide_?" It was uncomfortable enough discussing these matters with another woman whose profession revolved around handling situations like these. The thought of issuing my demands to yet _another_ stranger was almost too much to bear.

"His aide has indicated his only role will be to briefly meet with you and transport you to his employer's home so that you can negotiate the contract with the client directly. There are many things you should take into consideration, as evidenced at the bottom of the tentative contract. Feel free to make any edits or additions you wish, but it is strongly advised you both sign and return it before engaging in any sexual activity. If you have any questions about the language of the contract, please contact us immediately and one of our solicitors will assist you."

I heard everything she said but I wasn't really listening to anything that came after mentioning his private home. I don't know where I imagined this sordid affair would take place, but I had supposed it would be on neutral territory. "I am hesitant to go alone."

"Your applicant questionnaire made it very clear you had no interest in a chaperone."

"Not during—not during the… _act_. But I had thought there would be someone there to assist me during the negotiations."

"If you select the call button at the top of the screen, someone will assist you remotely," she said, gesturing toward the PADD.

"What I meant was, is this safe?"

Her eyes narrowed. "We screen our clients very carefully."

"You have said that several times."

"It would be illogical to believe any activity is entirely free of danger," she replied. "But we are very selective of our clients. We have turned people away who refused to provide their addresses and other relevant contact information. None of our female clients has ever been killed, abducted, or injured as a result of malice. I would not send you there if I were not willing to go myself."

The door opened and the pinched face of the receptionist peered in from the hallway. "Excuse me. He's arrived."

The woman raised her chin to study me more closely. "It is not too late to change your mind."

I teetered on the brink of indecision, torn between wanting to go home with my privacy intact and wanting to achieve all the things I knew I was capable of if only I could be given a chance. Finally I replied, "It would be logical to at least meet him."

She left and I rose to my feet to wander back to the long window. My stomach grumbled in protest at the lack of food and my belly ached from unresolved anxiety and anticipation. I badly needed to meditate before the unrepressed emotions became outwardly visible. Maybe they already were.

I heard the _swoosh_ of the door behind me and craned my neck to find a man standing in the threshold. He was handsome to a terrible degree and for a moment, I forgot he was the aide. For a moment, I didn't even remember to breathe.

"Live long and prosper," he said, his voice rich and smooth and ringing with a classic Shi'Kahran accent.

I returned the ta'al, the customary hand salute common among followers of Surak and delivered the reply slowly, so as to not foolishly stumble over words I'd spoken since toddlerhood. "Peace and long life."

He took several paces into the room and waited for the door to close behind him. He studied me with keen curiosity while I battled the humiliation of being observed like some novel and previously undocumented species. At long last he said, "I am Vedek."

"I am Sera. You are the aide, I presume."

"Yes." He lowered his eyes, I suspected to conceal his own awkwardness.

We stayed at an impasse for longer than was probably appropriate. Why did he have to be so perfectly formed and attractive? I returned to my seat and slid into it with as much grace as I could manage. "What are your questions for me?"

"I suppose I have none," he replied, tucking his hands behind his back.

"The woman said you were here to pre-screen me. How can you do that if you do not ask any questions?"

"You are a consenting adult female?"

"Evidently."

"Then I have no objections to you."

"Your employer has nothing else he wishes to know about me?"

"My employer…is not in a position to be highly selective."

I suppressed a flash of anger and quipped, "Did you intend to imply that I do not meet some unspoken standard of an appropriate mate? If so, please tell me how I can improve."

His eyes widened a fraction of a millimeter. "I did not have any such intention. Please, forgive me. I merely meant to say you are the only person who has expressed interest in my employer."

"Maybe if he would add a picture to his biography—"

"I will pass along your suggestion," he interrupted.

"Is there any need?" I replied. "If I agree to be with him and you say I'm qualified based on the configuration of my sex organs and no other reason, then what use will a more comprehensive biography serve?"

He cocked his left eyebrow. "May I ask why you agreed to meet with him based on so little information?"

"May I ask who your employer is?"

"I cannot say at this time."

"Where is the logic in that? I will have to meet him eventually. I refuse to ultimately make an arrangement with someone without knowing who they are."

"He may yet still refuse the arrangement."

"You just said he isn't in a position to be choosy."

"He is… _struggling_. He has intermittent lapses in logic."

"I had thought that was a common symptom—" I cut myself short, too embarrassed to actually say the term _pon farr_ aloud.

"It is," he agreed, speaking rather quickly and quietly. "Logically he understands this arrangement is best for him, but he…he may require reassurance and convincing."

"You expect _me_ to reassure him? I am not certain I wish—"

"Are _you_ not sincere?" he interrupted.

"Clarify."

"Have you committed to doing this?"

"I am committed to making an arrangement, but I cannot say whether it will be with your employer. I haven't met him and everyone refuses to tell me who he is."

"He is an important man and his loss would be a loss for all of Vulcan."

"So you insinuate that I should blindly do this not only to save his life, but also out of some sense of patriotism?"

His expression softened. "He is also my friend. I can attest that he is a very decent man."

"Most men are." I finally dared myself to meet his eyes. There was pain there. I rose to my feet and said, "Should we go meet your mysterious employer?"

"Before we go, I must confirm that you will agree not speak of this—"

"I have signed a confidentiality agreement. I will speak of this to no one as long as he doesn't either. Or _you_ , for that matter."

"I would never—"

"I am sure your silence is only to protect him," I interjected, striding toward the door. "You couldn't care less about me."

"You misunderstand the situation," he insisted, his tone softer. "I am grateful to you for this. You represent the possibility that he may live long enough to accomplish many more notable things."

And I believed he _was_ grateful to me, but as I soon learned, he was not so appreciative that he wanted to be seen in public together, lest anyone recognize the building for what it was or recognize him for who he was. He handed me a set of coordinates and a transporter chip, directed me to leave from the front entrance, and walk five blocks to a transporter station, where I was to ask to be transported to the coordinates he gave me. He would meet me at the coordinates twenty minutes later and give me further instructions.

It was only as I was walking back through the lobby and past the judgmental gaze of the receptionist that I noticed the coordinates matched the transporter station nearest the boarding house where I rented a room at the periphery of the city. If there were ever an opportunity to back out and slip into the ether, never to be heard from by this man or his employer ever again, this would be it. Yet I waited.

When he arrived at the appointed time, he motioned for me to follow without saying a word and directed me to an unremarkable black vehicle and opened the door. I hesitated.

"Is something the matter?" he asked.

"I do not live far from here," I explained.

"How is that of any interest to me?"

"I have a chkariya. He has not been fed or let out of doors all day."

He cast me a sidelong glance. "You wish to tend to it?"

"I did not anticipate being at the agency all day, nor meeting anyone this afternoon. It would not take long."

"Very well," he replied, gesturing once again to the car. "We'll feed your pet."

"It's only two blocks that way. I can walk."

"It will be faster in the vehicle. I am eager to return to my employer."

It was like nearly all modern Vulcan vehicles: self-driving with a large passenger compartment featuring inward-facing seats. I gave him my address and moments later, the car noiselessly pulled up to the curb outside of the building. I could sense him surveying the neighborhood with a critical eye, but I chose not to be ashamed. This was where I lived: it couldn't be helped.

Travek greeted me at the door and much to my relief, my wooden furniture was still intact. He whipped his snakelike body back and forth with exuberant joy, his long, fluffy tail pummeling the foliage of my houseplants with little mercy. I let him into the rear courtyard to relieve himself and hurried to the bathroom to examine my appearance.

As usual, my hair was a mess that no comb or gel could ever completely conquer. I stared hard at my reflection, wondering if he would think I was pretty enough. Did _Vedek_ think I was pretty enough? Should I care what he thought, since he'd already admitted that I met the minimum qualifications of being an adult female with a pulse?

I considered running to the kitchen to shove as much food in my mouth as possible in the short amount of time I had, but Travek's yips in the yard drew my attention. Many of the neighbors had already complained about his frequent vocalizations. I ran to let him in and was startled to find Vedek peering over the chest-high fence at my pet chkariya.

"What do you intend to do with this creature while you…are occupied?"

"He will be fine for several more hours by himself now that he has been let out and fed."

"Yes, but you cannot leave him unattended for days."

"I am aware of that. What do you mean _days_?"

He gave me a strange look. "If often takes several days…" Someone passed behind him on the street, causing him to falter. He cleared his throat and repeated with a more definitive tone. "It often takes several days."

I was too embarrassed to admit my ignorance. I knew what sex and pon farr were and that to resolve the condition, sometimes people had to have sex more than once. But for _days_?

Vedek clearly sensed my shock and if I had been looking more closely, I might have noticed that his cheeks were the faintest shade of green, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him at all.

"I have no one that can care for him," I muttered, allowing him to leap into my arms. My mother was gone, my younger brother had gone to live with our father, my neighbors despised Travek for his playful yipping, and my friends from the academy would be unable to house him.

"Then I will see to it."

"No, I couldn't ask—"

"If there are no other options, I do not see what choice I have."

"Travek has certain behaviors—he chews things. And he doesn't warm up to strangers easily."

Vedek let himself in through the gate and approached. I noticed from the swishing of curtains across the courtyard in the connecting building that T'Pila was probably observing us.

"My neighbor is watching," I mumbled. "Will you come inside?"

Vedek pursed his lips and followed me into my room without any objection. It was clean and quite tidy, but the structure itself was in a poor state. It was the sort of room transient people like myself rented until they found better accommodations. I had lived here ever since my mother's passing and until the possibility of an arrangement presented itself, I had expected to live here for quite a bit longer.

I set Travek on the floor and he snapped at Vedek's heels, causing the man to jump back. I shooed my chkariya away and cried, "I'm sorry! He can be a bit unpredictable. Are you sure you want to do this?"

Vedek pursed his lips. "Do you have a carrier for him or some kind of harness?"

"You mean to take him now?"

"We are going directly to my employer after this. Did you expect to return here tonight?"

I honestly _had_ , but I did my best to keep my surprise to myself. "I thought I was only meeting him today."

"I thought you understood his situation was urgent."

"I was unaware it was _that_ urgent."

Unwilling to negotiate with me, Vedek asked, "Do you have some way to transport your chkariya?"

I swallowed clumsily, struggling to grapple with the fact that this morning, I envisioned an arrangement being finalized in several months, but the timeline had been bumped up to _right now_. I finally replied, "I put him in a crate for veterinary visits. Are you sure—"

"During my service as an aide, I have been burdened with far more unpleasant tasks than caring for a small mammal for several days."

Rather than make a remark about how strange it must be to handle the minor details of someone else's life to such a degree they would feel compelled to take charge of their employer's concubine's chkariya, I nodded and set myself to the task of extracting Travek from beneath my bed. It took several minutes and both of our efforts, but soon the golden-haired chkariya was in his carrier and all it had cost was a small bite to the meat of Vedek's hand.

After shutting the wire door to the crate, I turned to see him wrapping a handkerchief around his palm. "I have an aid kit," I offered.

"It is not a serious injury." Blood was already seeping through the cream-colored fabric.

"I know you'll survive, but please allow me to offer my dermal regenerator." Without waiting for his reply, I hurried to the bathroom and extracted the first aid kit from beneath the sink.

Despite his protests, I produced the dermal regenerator and presented it to him, which he uncomplainingly took with his good hand. Travek howled in his carrier and I glanced at the ceiling, waiting for the man who lived upstairs to voice his displeasure. I sank to my knees and attempted to soothe Travek through the door of his crate, which helped somewhat but wouldn't be a permanent solution.

When I turned to ask Vedek if he was nearly done, I noticed him looking at me. Yet when our eyes finally met, he immediately averted his and mumbled, "We should leave. My employer is expecting us."

"Should I pack a bag?"

"My employer's house will have everything you need and can replicate most other things it doesn't have, but if you have medications or other non-replicable items, I would urge you to bring them."

We settled back into the car with Travek's large cage between us. When we began moving, the chkariya took it upon himself to sing us the songs of his people, issuing a symphony of yipping, howling, and screeching in utter contempt at his current treatment. Vedek leaned forward to stare into the cage, but Travek bared his teeth at the sight of a strange Vulcan face in such close proximity.

Vedek sat back in his seat and unconsciously gripped the hand Travek had bitten. We exchanged glances: I had a sneaking feeling Travek would be spending a lot of time in his crate in the coming days. It pained me to realize this, but I could not blame the man for not preferring to allow such a sour-tempered animal with a history of biting to roam free. It was only logical. Vedek would be safe and Travek would be miserable, but when this arrangement was settled and I had a better job, I would be able to move my beloved pet to a house where he could have a yard of his own and we would be free of neighbors who referred to him as noise-making vermin.

Within a few minutes, the car approached the countryside and the city loomed behind us in the distance. We were entering the Gad-shen Valley at the edge of Vulcan's Forge, where the vast estates of many of Shi'Kahr's oldest families were located. We picked up speed as we left the main road for the open desert and Vedek engaged the window screens, blocking my view.

"I am not even allowed to know where we're going?" I asked, glancing in his direction and startled to find he was once again watching me.

He looked down at his hands. "I think it is prudent, at least until the details of the arrangement are finalized."

I tried to capitalize on the opportunity and meditate, but it was difficult with Vedek's eyes so frequently flicking in my direction when he believed I wasn't looking. Eventually I extracted the PADD from my bag and began to review the contract. Most of the administrative details were a basic retelling of my questionnaire and held no real surprises. Then I got to the second part and had to hold my breath to steady my composure.

The first part of the contract was what I expected of him, but the second part outlined what he expected of me. Most of the items were categorized as "to be discussed," but nearly all of them detailed sexual positions and activities, some of which I couldn't even define.

Paragraph after paragraph about which orifices I would allow to be penetrated and what sort of appendages and objects I would permit inside my body, starting with the most obvious ones and ending with a section titled _Atypical Foreign Objects_. There were other things, such as whether I would consent to the use of restraints and whether I would allow the deliberate infliction of pain and to what extent. I was too captivated and horrified to stop reading.

"Are you well?" Vedek asked.

I clenched my jaw to prevent myself from having a more emotive reaction. My heart was racing. "Yes," I replied swiftly, powering down the PADD's screen. "Why do you ask?"

"Your complexion has fluctuated between flushed and pale for the past few minutes."

I returned the PADD to my bag and replied, "I have not eaten today."

Moments later, the car slowed to a halt. Vedek engaged the release and the door swung open to reveal a well-maintained garage with several other classic cars and hoverbikes. After he assured me Travek would be fine in the climate-controlled car for a short interval, I followed him into a side room that led into a spectacular entry hall. It was large enough to hold Shi'Kahr's symphony and an accompanying audience, though the abundance of hard surfaces in every direction would have made the acoustics less than desirable.

"I will go speak with him," Vedek said, glancing toward a wide, straight central staircase that went up three visible floors. "Please wait here."

I watched him climb to the second story and turn left down the hallway. When he was out of sight, I finally allowed myself to exhale and take stock of my surroundings. I had not seen the house's exterior, but I knew it was grander than anywhere I would ever live. It reminded me of my own father's house, only larger and more intimidating.

I had been to my father's home once at the age of six, given over to the care of servants for four days for while my mother was occupied. I knew now that they'd been tucked away in another room, conceiving my brother Sybok as part of their arrangement. It ought to have occurred to me that the resolution of pon farr would take several days based on that recollection, but I preferred to block the entire memory from my mind because at the end of it, I would always see the face of my father as he knelt to examine me as we were leaving.

I did the polite thing and in my immature and squeaky voice thanked him for permitting me stay at his house, thinking it would make my mother proud to watch me put my newly learned manners into practice. He gave me a curious look and told me I was most welcome. After that, my mother took me by the hand and we left and I never returned to the house again.

I was now agreeing to a similar fate. If this arrangement was finalized as I suspected it would be, I would faithfully return to this decadent mansion every seven years. I worked the math in a fraction of a second: if he was eighty-four and lived to be two hundred, that would require sixteen visits to this place and assuming our encounters lasted four days each time, that was only sixty-four days of my life. Sixty-four days of allowing this stranger to crawl on top of me and potentially penetrate me with "atypical foreign objects" in exchange for professional advancement and freedom from matrimony.

My heart sank. What if I _were_ to find someone worth marrying? For many Vulcan women, marriage was little more than a domestic noose, resigning them to focus primarily on running a household during their childbearing years. Many did work outside the home when their children reached school age, but their careers rarely followed the same trajectories as their male counterparts. Was any man worth such a fate?

I waited five minutes, then ten. I passed the time by studying the elaborate mural on the walls of the grand entry hall. They depicted the entire history of Vulcan from the Reformation to modern day. I was in the middle of reflecting upon the portrayal of T'Pol and T'Pau leading the Syrranites out of the desert with the recovered katra of Surak when I heard Vedek's shoes clicking on the stone stairs behind me. He stopped on the last step and announced, "He will see you now."

I forced my face to remain calm. "And you still won't tell me who he is?"

"You will discover his identity for yourself very soon," Vedek said, conspicuously avoiding looking at me. "His room is located on the second level at the end of the corridor to the left. Knock and wait for him to invite you to enter."

I tried to catch his gaze for any reassurance, but he refused to visually acknowledge me. So I climbed in silence, acknowledged only by the faces contained within the murals. No doubt this mysterious man was descended from some of the individuals represented within it. Then it occurred to me that _I_ was also: my father was the son of Skon, who had been instrumental in the Federation's founding. Skon was the son of Solkar, the man who had made first contact with the human species. Even if I was an unrecognized and mildly embarrassing branch of their family tree, those men were still my forebears.

When I found myself standing before the appointed door, I managed to knock before my courage could fail me. There was no response. My heart threatened to thunder out of my chest and just as I raised my fist to knock a second time, a voice called, "Enter."

I found a rather tall man facing the window with his back toward me, surveying the landscape beyond his great house. When he turned to reveal who he was, everything made sense. The woman at the agency had not been wrong in her assertion that he would be a direct path to employment in my chosen field.

He was a scientific genius. His articles on molecular motors had transformed modern molecular biology techniques and had been assigned reading in many of my classes. He was a current regent of the Vulcan Science Academy. But beyond that, he was Minister Soren, the Vulcan Minister of Science and according to our constitution, the third most powerful man on Vulcan behind the First Minister and the Minister of State.

He stared at me in a way that made me feel exposed, as though he were both glaring at me and looking through me at the same time. As uncomfortable as it was, I was in awe of him. I was of the opinion that the woman at the agency had made a grave understatement when she'd said he was very well-positioned to provide for my children and my career in molecular biology. And just like that, I decided this arrangement was not a mistake and I would endure nearly any humiliating or depraved thing he asked of me.

"Do you speak?" he finally asked.

I cleared my throat. "I do."

"I presume you know who I am."

"I do."

He wandered to a pair of high-backed armchairs huddled in the corner and slumped into one. He motioned to the chair opposite himself with a trembling hand and said, "Please sit down. I believe we have much to discuss."


	4. The Arrangement

She slid into the chair. The oversized piece of furniture nearly swallowed her tiny body. He'd deduced from the biography Vedek had shown him that she would be petite, but she was much smaller in person than he'd expected her to be. Loose-fitting clothes enveloped what he suspected was a slender and boyish figure, all tendons and joints and straight lines. She was no great beauty but even so, an erection began to press against the seam of his trousers, forcing him to adjust the way he was sitting. He hated this complete inability to control his body. It felt like a betrayal. 

The woman folded her hands in her lap and looked at him, or more specifically, at his knees. They both seemed to be waiting for the other person to speak. How were such conversations supposed to transpire? He was a skilled negotiator but he had no experience with something like this. 

Eventually she cleared her throat and asked, "How should I address you?"

"Moments ago you claimed to know who I was."

"I did," she replied, just as quickly, dropping her eyes from his knees to his ankles. "And I _do_."

Suddenly he felt quite foolish for failing to take her meaning. She wasn't seeking clarification about his identity: she was asking permission to begin their negotiations on familiar terms. He wasn't certain he cared to have that degree of intimacy with her so he replied, "I am Minister Soren."

"I am honored to make your acquaintance, Minister Soren," she whispered. "I am Sera."

"I understand you are seeking a position in a research laboratory," he stated, deciding her requests would be the best place to begin negotiations.

"I am."

"And you believe you are qualified for such a position?"

"I recently graduated from the Vulcan Science Academy with a degree in molecular biology."

"I have read the biography the agency provided. Who was your principal advisor?"

"Professor T'Lona."

Soren fought to suppress any outward disbelief. T'Lona was a talented scientist and only accepted the most promising protégés. And he would know: the wizened researcher had also been his mentor during his time at the Academy. He gave her a solemn nod. "What was your area of expertise?"

"Theoretical protein modeling," she said, daring to look him in the eye for the first time since they'd met.

"A fascinating subject," he conceded, suddenly recalling he'd recently read an article on that topic out of T'Lona's laboratory. Had this woman authored it?

"I am aware you are also a graduate of the Vulcan Science Academy," she murmured, casting her eyes toward his face once again. "I greatly admire your work on synthetic molecular motors. In fact, I cited several of your articles in my most recent research."

He sat a little straighter. He hadn't anticipated flattery and in his present state of growing irrationality, he wasn't prepared to react appropriately. "I am well versed in my own accomplishments," he replied, barely moving his lips.

His brusque reply sucked most of the vibrancy from her, even if she managed to keep wearing her face in the customary, highly stoic Vulcan manner. Rather than dwell on or apologize for his unintended rudeness, he pressed on, eager to resign this entire distasteful affair to the past as quickly as possible. He continued, "I have read your requests and wish to address them."

"Yes," she replied, fumbling through the bag by her side to extract a PADD. "The agency has drafted a tentative contract. We are supposed to finalize it and send it back before…" Her words drifted into muted tones as a faint green flush rippled across her cheeks.

He waited for her to finish speaking, or to do _anything_ , but she only seemed capable of staring at the device in her hands, almost as if she expected it to speak for her. He asked, "Are you waiting for something?"

She cleared her throat. "Would you prefer to read it yourself or should I—should I read it—"

He interrupted her bungled speech by holding out his hand in expectation. She rose from her seat to present the document to him without issuing another word.

He skimmed the preliminary information, pausing at her most essential demand. "As we had already begun to discuss, you are seeking employment in the field of molecular biology."

"Yes."

"Expound."

"I wish to work in a research laboratory."

"As is evident based on your educational background," he replied, trying to suppress his frustration at her noncommittal meekness. "Why can you not find employment based on your own credentials? Have you sought the assistance of an employment agency?"

"I have submitted my credentials to every laboratory in the province but none have responded. I have also been to the local employment agency and have been offered work, but the positions are menial and far below my qualifications. I have seen many of my peers, particularly my male peers, find positions in laboratories when their portfolio is less—it is not that they are _not_ competent, it is merely that—"

"You imply less qualified people are being hired to the positions you are seeking?" he interrupted.

She took a slow breath. "It would be illogical to presume to know the minds of hiring committees, but I—"

"It would also be illogical to pretend that nepotism and partiality are not systemic problems among our society. Vulcan is a meritocracy, but only after a person is established in a career, and careers are often established by any means necessary. That is why advantageous marriages and family alliances are so crucial to success." He paused, debating whether to add that arrangements such as the one they were currently negotiating were also responsible for upward mobility.

She blinked several times. "Yes."

"Is your family unable to assist you?"

"I have no family to speak of aside from a younger brother, who is soon to complete his secondary education. If I had anyone else who could help me, I would not be here speaking with you."

A latent emotion flashed in her eyes and for the first time, Soren felt impressed by her. That was until she frowned slightly and began to apologize for her impertinence. He held up a hand. "You have come to me seeking assistance with your career. I am well situated to provide you with that. What sort of position did you have in mind?"

She gripped her hands tightly in her lap. "I would be grateful for _any_ assistance. I—"

"What sort of position?" he reemphasized. "Be specific."

"I was hoping to find work as a junior researcher in a government facility," she murmured, unclasping her hands and allowing them to rest on her knees.

"That is ambitious," he countered. "Very few people secure such an opportunity immediately after graduation."

She glanced out the window. "It _is_ ambitious. Therefore, I would also be content to work in academia or perhaps—"

"Do you think yourself capable of performing research in a government facility?" he pressed.

"I—I do not want to presume—"

"If you do not presume on your own behalf, then no one else will either," he interjected. "Graciousness and humility are perfectly acceptable attributes in many social situations, but it will get you very little professionally. You have nothing to lose by asking for what you want because the worst I can do is refuse your request. So I shall ask again: do you believe yourself worthy of working in a government research laboratory?"

Her posture stiffened. "Yes."

"Very well. Vulcan has many laboratories. Which one did you have in mind?"

"Do you wish to know my specific qualifications first?"

He gazed at her for several long moments, exasperated by her naïveté and socially polite attempts at self-effacement. "Your biography tells me that you matriculated into one of the most prestigious institutions of higher learning on this planet and worked directly under a very talented scientist. None of that would have been possible had you not demonstrated considerable proficiency in your field, as well as a sufficient aptitude for many other disciplines of science. I suspect you could even be assigned to an astrophysics laboratory and find a way to flourish."

"I have always performed well academically," she acknowledged, finally lifting her face to meet his, even if she kept her eyes trained on his chin. "There are currently four government-funded research laboratories in Shi'Kahr specializing in molecular biology. Any of them will be acceptable. That is what I want."

He offered a calculating bow of his head. "I know the principal investigators of each of those laboratories and I have worked closely with two of them. I can assure you there will be a position waiting for you in one of them by next week."

"How can you guarantee such a thing without speaking with them first?" she asked.

"Vulcan may thrive on nepotism, but it trades in favors. As Minister of Science, I am owed many."

"What if they do not currently have any open positions?"

"They can make one."

"I am not eager to have my future employer feel forced to accept me," she said. 

"I would have to confer with my aide to offer more precise data, but I estimate my office provides approximately one hundred professional and character references every day," he explained. "It would not be unusual for me to recommend someone such as yourself to a potential employer, particularly because we share a similar educational background."

"And do people always follow your recommendations?"

"I am the Minister of Science." His words emerged with more force than he'd intended.

"I do not mean to be disrespectful," she said, clutching her hands together so tightly the knuckles began to turn white. "But if I'm to exchange my body for this, I want to ensure it will actually materialize."

"I did not come to be Minister of Science by failing to honor agreements. What you have asked for is not unreasonable, nor is it beyond my powers to offer you." He held up the PADD. "And we are establishing our agreement in writing."

She nodded. "Thank you."

"You have nothing to thank me for. This is not a favor: it is a trade. And it is not even a fair trade."

"You think I am dealing with you unfairly?" she asked.

"No, it is you who are being treated unfairly. You are trading several days of your time and perhaps mild physical discomfort for a career. I am trading a professional recommendation, something I routinely provide, for my life."

"True. But a career was not my only request," she declared. "There is also the matter of children."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Your biography indicated you wanted one or two. Since children are most aesthetically pleasing when presented in whole numbers, precisely how many did you have in mind? One or two?"

"I would like to have one, with the option of having a second one if I take well to motherhood and can balance caring for children with my career."

He looked down at the PADD in his hands and reread the paragraphs regarding children. Establishing her in a career would require very little effort and was something he routinely did for many people. Producing offspring was a different matter entirely.

"And you do not want me to be involved with any children we may have together, aside from financial maintenance?"

She turned her head to stare out the window once again. "I want to be able to raise my children the way my mother raised me."

"You imply you are the product of an arrangement." There had been no mention of that in the biography Vedek had shown him.

"I am."

"And you were content to grow up without knowing your father?"

"I did not know any other way," she admitted.

"Did your mother ever reveal his identity to you?"

"I met him once as a child, but I only came to know his name and appreciate who he was when I grew older. My father is man somewhat like you—a prominent figure who found himself facing the misfortune of being in need at some point in his life."

"I have three adult sons," Soren explained. "I had never considered producing more children at this stage of my life."

"You are only eighty-four," she countered. "Many men who are much older than you have fathered children."

"Until now, I had also never considered fathering children I would not be permitted to know."

"You had such a desire for secrecy surrounding this arrangement that I had never considered the possibility you would _want_ to be involved with any children we might have."

He thought to himself for a moment, gripping his hands together to prevent them from visibly shaking. "I do not object to producing children with you, nor do I object to providing for them, but I cannot in good conscience be entirely uninvolved."

"For your sake, or for theirs?" she asked, casting her gaze toward him. For the first time in their negotiations, Soren felt himself on the retreat.

"For my own sake."

"I wish to retain full legal and parental rights over my children," she insisted. "I will not accept anything less."

"And I am powerless to refuse," he conceded.

Something in his answer caused her to falter. She cleared her throat. "What if I were to provide you with annual updates regarding their development and education until they reached the age of majority?"

"That would be most welcome," he agreed. "Would you permit me to meet them?"

"I do not think that would be wise," she replied. "My mother only told me my father's identity when I reached an age where I could fully appreciate the importance of secrecy. Small children cannot realistically be trusted with that sort of information."

Her logic was sound and perhaps if he were not struggling with pon farr, he could tuck his powerful paternal emotions neatly away within his subconscious and it would be easier to accept relinquishing his relationship with any future children. "May I at least see them after their birth? And perhaps periodically until they reach the age of four, before they are old enough to form lasting memories?"

The corners of her mouth twitched downward. "Define periodically."

"Biannually."

She considered his request for a long time, so long that he began to doubt she would consent. In an effort to reassure her, he added, "I have no objection to surrendering all rights to them. They will be yours to raise as you wish and I will not usurp your authority or attempt to convince them to care for me. I will provide whatever financial support you request. I only ask to see them."

"I will not deny you that," she murmured at last. "Immediately after birth and twice per year until the age of four, for an hour at a time and at a location of your choosing."

"That will be acceptable to me," he agreed. "When do you wish to conceive them?"

"Perhaps in twenty years."

"As I stated earlier, I did not intend to have children so late in life. I would prefer not to reproduce past the age of one hundred."

"You wish to impregnate me _now_?"

"There is a direct relationship between the health of a child and the age of its parents," he argued.

"You can hardly be considered elderly," she responded. "And I am very young."

"Assuming you developed typically, at age twenty-five, you have been sexually mature for approximately ten years. Furthermore, research has shown that fertility and gametic stability rapidly decline in males beginning in midlife. Just because conception beyond that age is possible does not mean it is prudent."

"I had intended to begin a career," she replied. "It was the first point of our discussion, if you recall."

"I would argue there are several significant advantages to having children before your career fully develops. A junior researcher has fewer responsibilities and has more liberty to take maternity leave without undue pressure to quickly return to their duties."

She nodded in contemplation, leaving him free to express his next point. "Additionally, the terms of my previous marriage contract prevent me from bestowing any portion of my estate on children other than the ones I produced with my former mate. I am able to fully financially provide for any children we produce while I am alive, and I will also see to it they have access to educational and professional opportunities, but they can be entitled to nothing after my death. The younger I am when they are conceived, the longer they will enjoy my benefaction."

Her face hardened; her eyes grew steely. "And if you should decide to terminate our arrangement in the future, would our children still enjoy your support?"

"I do not intend to ever formally take a mate again. I can assure you our arrangement will be quite permanent."

"But should anything happen to end our arrangement aside from your death, will you continue to provide for our children? _Fully_ provide for them?"

"Yes," he replied without hesitation. "I will add it to the contract now, if you like."

"Thank you."

"And for clarification, we are agreed that we will conceive these children prior to me reaching the age of one hundred?"

Her expression adopted a pensive demeanor. "If we only meet every seven years beginning now, that only leaves me three attempts to naturally conceive a child."

"Research has demonstrated that fertility dramatically increases during this time," he said, deliberately shying away from uttering the term _pon farr_. "I cannot _guarantee_ you will become pregnant, but pheromones contribute to a number of rapid physiological changes that make conception extremely likely."

"So they do," she replied, turning her attention to his feet once again.

"So do we have an agreement? I will provide you with a professional recommendation at a government research facility and assist you in conceiving and financially providing for up to two children within the next sixteen years, and you will allow me to see them biannually after birth until they reach the age of four."

"Yes."

"And you agree to never speak publicly of this arrangement to anyone and will take the utmost care to conceal the nature of our relationship?"

"Yes, as I trust you will also. I have no intention of communicating with you outside of…your _situation_ , unless it directly involves our children, as per the terms we already agreed upon."

"And I will not communicate with you," he agreed. "Unless it is to request your presence to resolve my condition. Will three months' advance notice be sufficient to get your affairs in order and allow you to spend at least four uninterrupted days with me at this estate every seven years?"

"I am sure that will be enough."

"Then we have an arrangement."

"There is—there is _more_. There's more to the contract." Her voice squeaked and sputtered as she spoke.

He glanced at the PADD and realized he was only halfway through the tentative contract. He scrolled down and fought against immediate discomfort at the vivid descriptions of various sexual activities. It was when he reached a section titled _Atypical Foreign Objects_ that he turned the PADD over and explained, "I have no interest in anally penetrating you with foreign objects, nor do I wish to restrain you, beat you, or invite other participants to join us. Perhaps it would be polite to inquire after _your_ opinion, but I would prefer to keep the pain and degradation to an appropriate minimum."

Her face began to glow a verdant shade of green. "I—I would—that would be—very well."

"Did you have a differing view?" he asked, desperately hoping she did not.

She shook her head. "No. Traditional forms of sexual contact will be satisfactory."

He supposed it would be prudent to clarify what she meant by _traditional_ , but she was clearly as keen to have this discussion as he was, which was to say she didn't seem very eager at all.

He continued to skim the remainder of his portion of the contract but froze when he came to the section titled _Mind Melding and Other Miscellaneous Forms of Intimacy_. He could not speak for other men, but for _him_ , resolving pon farr had always required merging his mind with T'Mona's. He would prefer to avoid kissing this stranger or engaging in ozh'esta with her, but he did not think he could escape the need to meld their minds together.

She waited on the edge of her seat, watching him as he deliberated. "Was there anything else, Minister Soren?"

"Bonding through mind melding assists me in resolving...that is to say, correcting the hormone imbalance."

Her caught sight of her face growing pale in his peripheral view. "You need to mind meld with me?"

"I do not believe it can be avoided."

She tightened her jaw and replied, "Then I suppose it should go without saying that if either of us inadvertently learns anything of a personal nature about the other person, we will keep it to ourselves."

He nodded. He took time to review the contract in full from the beginning and returned the PADD to her so she could do the same. They clarified a few finer points of the language and an hour later, they both signed the document by pressing their thumbprints in the appropriate boxes. Sera sent a copy to the agency and returned the PADD to her bag.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"You plan to do this right now?"

"Was there something you needed to do first?"

"I understand your need is urgent, but you seem very lucid and I was thinking we might postpone it for perhaps a day or two…"

If only she knew how much energy it had taken to maintain his composure during their negotiations. He did not know how to explain the bewildering experience of pon farr, how it made him feel like he needed to jump out of his skin, to scream and rage, to fight anything that challenged him. He inhaled and replied, "I have not yet reached the stage known as blood fever, but my… _condition_ …it has never been this advanced in my life. I would prefer to resolve this now while I still have some control over myself than wait until the last possible moment when I am more likely to be aggressive."

Her face paled again. "I understand. But it has been a long day and I have not eaten or had an opportunity to meditate. Could we at least delay it for an hour?"

He swallowed. "I see. Yes. It would be wise for you to tend to those things."

"Also, your aide said I could replicate whatever I needed. I did not bring anything. I have no clothes or—"

"I cannot imagine you will have need for clothes in the near future," he replied, disgusted by his inadvertent innuendo.

"I—it's just that—"

"Unless you favor keeping your clothes on," he added, preferring to avoid distressing her. "Perhaps we should have specified that in the contract, but I will not object if you wish to expose as little of your body to me as possible."

"I don't mind fully undressing," she muttered. "But I would at least like a robe and some toiletries."

"Of course," he nodded. "I will give you a bedroom and time to do whatever you need. Is three hours sufficient to prepare yourself?"

"Yes." The word was clipped and high-pitched, but it conveyed all the information he needed.

He walked toward the door and motioned for her to follow. He found his aide waiting in the corridor. "Vedek, please show my guest to the replicator and get her situated in the adjacent bedroom. After that, please take your leave. I will contact you in four days."

When the door closed behind them, Soren found himself alone in his bedroom once again. He gazed at the large bed centered on the opposite wall. He had once shared that bed with T'Mona. Without allowing himself to think another thought, he picked up a small votive figurine from the long table by the door and hurled it at the floor. A spray of powder and debris exploded beneath his feet and he sunk into the rubble and began to silently weep.


	5. Denial

**_Two weeks earlier:  
_**"So as you can see, these two research assistant positions are what are available to you in this area." The woman's tone was flat, even by Vulcan standards.

I stole a glance out the window, watching vehicles pass by outside. Traffic was increasing and I estimated it would take me nearly an hour to return to my little council-provided room on the outskirts of Shi'Kahr. I'd received notice that morning that the housing voucher would soon expire, unless I could provide proof I was unable to work or unable to find reasonable employment. Somehow, I sensed the council's definition of _reasonable_ differed from mine.

She raised an eyebrow, drawing my attention back to the matter at hand. I was completely capable of working and unless I agreed to take something soon, I would be evicted from my room and be forced to turn to one of the city's transient dormitories. "What about positions outside of biological research?"

The woman returned to her screen and began the process of altering search parameters. "What fields would you consider?"

I didn't know. I had graduated from one of the top universities in the Federation nearly five months ago. It never occurred to me that employment as a molecular biologist would be so difficult to come by. There were a number of junior research assistant jobs available, but those positions were generally logistical and janitorial support, not designed for people with advanced degrees like mine. I'd recently authored my first article on theoretical protein modeling—what a giant leap backwards it would be to give up actual research just so I could program cleaning bots and draft grant proposals for other scientists.

"There are a number of aide positions available in the Diplomatic Service," she finally announced. "Would you consider one of those?"

I suppressed a feeling of agitation. I felt my skillset was above fetching tea for scientists: how would fetching tea for diplomats be any different? "Is there nothing at all relating to my degree? Or even more generally, related to science?"

She took time to examine my face, then spent several long seconds in solemn reflection. "I find employment for young professionals seeking to enter the workforce. The majority of my clients have few personal connections to facilitate their career ambitions. Is this true for you also?"

My mother was gone and I hadn't seen my father since the age of nine. I suspected he might be of some assistance, but he just as easily might turn me away. My mere existence had to be an inconvenience to his very unorthodox family. I blinked and replied, "Yes."

"Are you bonded?" she asked.

"That is a very personal question."

"It is," she agreed.

"Do you mean to imply I should stop looking for work and get married?"

"Is that what you want?"

"No," I replied. "And I am not bonded, so that is not an option anyway."

"Then I think you might be a good candidate."

"Candidate for what?"

She reached into her desk drawer, extracted an infochip, set it on the smooth surface of her desk, and slid it in my direction with her index finger.

"What is this?" I asked.

"It is an opportunity, if you wish."

"Clarify."

"I recommend you go home, insert the infochip into your PADD, and decide for yourself. If it is not something you are interested in, come back tomorrow. Perhaps another junior research assistant position will be available, and maybe you'll feel more inclined to empty waste bins." She motioned toward the door. "Now, my next client is waiting."

I rose to my feet, fully intending to leave her office and never return. I made it several steps away from the chair before I quickly turned on my heel, grabbed the infochip from the desk, and made my way out of the building and into the thick afternoon traffic.

* * *

**_Present day:  
_**"Feel free to adjust the settings as you like," Vedek said, gesturing toward the replicator. "Is there anything else you require?"

"Travek eats twice a day, but don't feed him after sunset or he'll be awake all night."

"I understand."

"And he digs," I added. "You cannot leave him unsupervised outside."

"Chkariyas are burrowing animals," he replied. "Your warning seems logical. But I am familiar with the care of these creatures. My sister kept two of them as pets."

"Oh," I muttered. "Thank you again for caring for him."

He folded his hands behind his back, gave a deferential bow, and headed in the direction of the garage. I was grateful to finally be alone.

It took several attempts to get the replicator working properly, but I managed to produce a set of loose satin slacks and a simple, silky meditation robe. I replicated a pair of meditation candles and was just considering what I should make to eat when I was struck by a new fear. What if I couldn't retain food?

I grew motion sick easily and as far as I could guess, sexual intercourse was generally a boisterous activity. I could survive without food for quite a bit longer, but I wasn't sure how well I'd be able to cope with the shame if I vomited on him. My gut lurched and grumbled at the mere thought of hurling my stomach contents onto him and so I decided to skip another meal for the sake of my last vestiges of dignity.

I shuffled back to the bedroom Vedek indicated I should use and quickly shut the door behind me. The full weight of the situation felt impossibly heavy. Two weeks ago I was half considering taking a job as a junior aide to some diplomat and now I was facing the prospect of a prestigious position in a government research laboratory, as well as _motherhood_. And it was all thanks to a man whose research I admired very much.

Minister Soren, Vulcan's Minister of Science, was going to father my children. Not that that implied any special relationship between us. I was essentially no different than Vedek or anyone else in his employ. I was here to perform a necessary service, just like the cooks who prepared his meals or the maids who washed his clothes, though unfortunately, there were few socially kind ways to describe a person whose primary duty was tending to sexual relief.

I changed into my newly minted clothes in record time. It was illogical to take pains to hurry or conceal myself—I was quite alone in the room and soon wouldn't be wearing clothing at all—but there was something safe and comforting in the feeling of the soft fabric against my skin. I spent the next hours in meditation, pausing only to reflect on the absurdity of my current predicament before quickly returning to meditation to balance my frayed psyche.

A knock at the door a short time later tore me from my ruminations. Surely three hours could not have already passed? My heart slammed against my ribs as I tried to compose myself. A second knock sent me scrambling to my feet, blowing out the candles as I clambered to answer the door. I discovered a man who looked strained and weary but with a forlorn wildness to his expression. Like me, he had changed into meditation clothing.

I exhaled sharply and remarked, "You could have just come in. It is your house, after all."

"It is," he said in a clipped tone. "But just because we have agreed to mate does not mean you are not entitled to privacy."

"Thank you." I projected as much confidence as I could bear and added, "W-will you come in?"

He followed me inside, his eyes scanning the room, pausing on the smoking meditation candles on the floor and the neatly folded pile of clothes on the dresser that I had been wearing when we met. Then his eyes moved to me, searching and probing. When I could no longer bear it, I summoned the courage to ask, "Is something the matter?"

His mouth smirked but the rest of his face remained motionless. "It is clear that you are trying your best to remain void of emotion, but you are obviously frightened."

I met his eyes offered a tiny bob of my head. "I am ashamed I cannot do better to control my emotions. My mother always said I was more emotive than most."

"It is a difficult thing to feel powerless against emotion," he replied, looking away.

I turned toward the bed, eager for this to be over. "How do you suggest we begin?'

"I believe that is a question more appropriate for me to ask you."

"I have never—I do not know what is best. You said you had only wanted to do things in the traditional way, but I suspect there are a number of ways that could be classified as such."

"You have never mated with anyone?"

I shook my head, wondering if I should have mentioned it during our negotiations. I expected him to remark upon this revelation but he only nodded. "Would you prefer to lie on your back, stay on your feet, or be on your hands and knees?”

"I—I do not know. What do you recommend?"

"You are petite and I worry the latter two positions may result in me penetrating you too deeply, causing unnecessary pain. You may be more physically comfortable on your back, but then you will have to face me. It will be more intimate."

I bowed my head and sat on the edge of the bed. "Thank you for your logical analysis."

He took a seat next to me, leaving sufficient space between us to avoid any real hint of affection. His hands were shaking and he clutched them together and placed them on his lap.

"Do you want to do this?" I asked.

"No," he confessed. "But I do want to live."

I tilted my face in his direction, keeping my line of sight directly pointed at the floor. "Do we—should we bond first? Or after?"

"It is better done first," he explained. "It will make us more attuned to each other and less likely to cause the other any physical pain."

"Should you, or do you want me—"

"I would prefer to initiate the bond between us," he interrupted. "Are you ready?"

I wasn't sure I ever would be, but I muttered some form of affirmative reply and scooted myself closer to him, turning my body so he would have better access. The last thing I saw before I closed my eyes was his hands reaching toward my face. A moment later all I could sense was the radiant heat from his palms and then jittery, nervous energy. I remembered a similar sensation from the bonding ceremony when I was seven, but now the person initiating the link between us wasn't a bored seven-year-old boy, but rather an incredibly sad and intensely lusty adult man.

" _Oh_." The syllable slipped from my mouth. It sounded foreign, like someone else had uttered it, but I couldn't focus on that. Every sensory organ in my body was pulsing with this man's loneliness and longing. I thought I missed my mother, but it was nothing compared to how he missed his wife. I was so absorbed in his emotions that I failed to immediately notice he'd broken the bond between us and droplets of moisture were pooling at the corners of my eyes.

My eyes flicked open in surprise and I impulsively blurted, "I am so sorry."

He looked puzzled but nodded in agreement. "I am sorry also. For you." We had an understanding. Nothing more needed to be said.

We sat motionless and silent for nearly a minute. The equation had completely changed. Before the meld, I had focused all my energy on tolerating whatever he wanted to do to me without complaint, but now all I wanted was to avoid making him suffer more. I eventually found the courage to gently extend a hand and rest it on his knee near his left hand. His little finger reached toward mine, curious and probing, but he curled his fingers into a fist before he made contact. It was a gesture that in any other context might seem threatening, but I knew he had no intention of hurting me, he just didn't want to touch me.

He took a deep breath and asked, "Did you decide you would prefer to lie on your back?"

I hadn't really decided anything but I didn't want to appear too demanding. "Yes, please."

He looked over his shoulder and motioned toward the center of the bed. "Will you remove your trousers and lie down?"

And here it was. I stood on a pair of shaking legs and reached up underneath my robe to pull the top of my trousers down, but stopped. I had agreed to completely disrobe. I reached for the sash around my midsection with hesitant hands.

"You may leave the robe on," he said. "If you wish."

I dropped my hands to my sides, grateful for his consideration. I slipped the silken slacks down to my ankles and stepped out of them. The robe hung to my knees, but it still seemed strange to be naked below the waist even if my modesty was still technically preserved by the thin meditation garment. My body followed an awkward, mechanical trajectory as I sat on the edge of the bed and pushed myself backwards. I deliberately turned away to avoid watching him undress but like me, he only removed his trousers.

He pulled himself onto the bed in a kneeling position, but I couldn't bring myself to lie back. His hand gently touched my knee and I jumped, an action that was greatly exaggerated by my growing trepidation.

"Would you like a sedative?" he asked.

"I want to be conscious," I blurted. Only that wasn't exactly true. What I really wanted was a way to dissociate myself from what was about to transpire while still retaining control over my actions, but I could contrive no way to make that happen.

"I did not mean to insinuate I wanted you to be unconscious," he explained. "I only offer a mild sedative to help you relax."

"Oh," I mumbled, suddenly deciding his offer was actually quite generous. "I do not wish to be difficult."

"It is a very small concession," he insisted.

"Then, yes. _Please_."

He rolled off the bed and left the room. The moment the door closed behind him, I exhaled a panicked breath and tucked my knees up to my chest, drawing the mediation robe more tightly around my body. Why had I thought this was a reasonable method of obtaining a better career? This was _madness_.

He returned a minute later with a carafe in one hand and two semi-opaque stacked glasses in the other. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, offered me one of the glasses, and filled it with mulled Vulcan wine. It was warm to the touch, which felt reassuring. He poured a glass for himself and downed it in two long gulps, steadying the glass with two quivering hands. I took a cautious sip of mine, surprised to discover an alluring sweet taste.

"It is delicious," I mused, raising the glass to my lips a second time. Warmth was quickly spreading from my belly outward to my extremities. It was a very pleasant feeling. When I noticed him observing me, I tilted the glass at a steeper angle to finish the beverage more quickly.

"Take your time," he urged.

I lowered the glass and caught my breath. "You have already been very patient and kind. I don't want to impose on you any further."

"It is no imposition," he insisted gruffly. "It is logical to ensure you are at ease and as comfortable as possible. I stand to gain nothing from traumatizing you, particularly because we will need to mate several more times, and then again every seven years."

"Very logical, yes," I agreed, still eager to finish my drink in a timely fashion. When the wine was gone I handed him the glass, surprised my muscles were moving more slowly than I thought they should. My head felt heavier too. I had never been drunk before, but it was not nearly as bad as I imagined it would be. I was still in control of myself, but less concerned about it.

"Would you like more?" he asked.

I rubbed my neck. "I think that was sufficient. Thank you."

"Are you ready?"

Despite the mild intoxication, my body was tensing again. I was _not_ ready and suspected I never really would be, but I nodded my consent. I managed to lean backward until my shoulders made contact with the mattress, but my knees remained firmly glued together. I craned my neck to the right and focused on studying the ornate tapestry on the wall.

His hands were soon on my kneecaps but I managed to mostly maintain my poise. Rather than push my legs open he asked, "Will you relax your thigh muscles and allow your knees to fall to the sides?"

After a few moments of hesitation and two false starts, my legs drifted apart and I found myself lying there, spread open before him. His hands ran up the inside of my legs and I held my breath to avoid distracting him by making any disturbing sounds. I was doing well, at least until I felt firm, distinct pressure on my labia. The sound I made might have been called a yelp or a squeal, or perhaps even a cry. Regardless of the precise synonym, it was enough to cause him to stop.

I reached a hand to my mouth and breathed, "I am sorry. Please continue."

"Will you permit me to penetrate you with my fingers?" he asked.

" _Why_?" I asked, unable to strip the alarm out of my voice.

"To digitally stimulate your sex glands."

"I did not—that is—I do not need to derive any physical pleasure from this."

"I do not expect you to eagerly anticipate mating with me, but I do not want you to dread it either," he explained. There was an unusual gravity to his voice. Was he angry?

I sat up and pulled my legs back firmly toward my chest. "I did not mean to imply you should not enjoy—I did not think you would _want_ to enjoy it—I had only thought you wanted to get it over with."

"I do want this to be finished," he replied, sitting back on his haunches. "My only purpose for asking to massage your sex glands was to induce you to produce a sufficient quantity of lubricant to avoid unnecessary friction and pain. You may find it feels… _pleasurable_. If you would prefer to avoid this, I can use saliva or replicate a synthetic lubricant."

It had never occurred to me that _I_ might try to enjoy this. Why would it have, beneath so many layers of awkwardness and humiliation? I gave a small shake of my head but couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. "You may use your fingers. If you want."

I returned to my back and allowed my legs to slide apart a second time. He slid my hips closer toward him and gently but without any hesitation, plunged his two forefingers into me. There was a brief, uncomfortable pinch—perhaps a fingernail had scraped against some membrane—but it was not as painful as I thought it would be. When his fingers could go no further, he rotated his hand ninety degrees and began to probe around. At first I wondered what he was trying to accomplish, but then his fingertips struck a chord and I was met with a peculiar feeling.

I was horrified because the sensation vaguely reminded me of needing to urinate and I was afraid I would randomly find myself unable to control my bladder, but I quickly realized it felt more like a pleasant ache than anything else. This act of massaging my sex glands was entirely tolerable, at least until his thumb began tracing rapid circles around the external parts of my female anatomy. 

The most gratifying warmth rippled through my pelvis and up into my belly, reinforcing the throbbing pull from my sex glands and turning the whole experience into something utterly delightful. My eyes snapped shut at this sudden development and I let out an involuntary sigh of confused satisfaction before quickly clasping a hand over my mouth.

"You do not need to remain silent on my account," he said softly, though he was clearly trying to restrain some deep, angry emotion. "Vocalizations are a mere accident of instinct. Make whatever sounds you feel compelled to make."

I sucked in air through my nostrils as his fingers continued to wind their way in and out of my body and it wasn't long before I was an anxious, quaking, dripping mess. My hand fell from my mouth to grip the surrounding bedlinens and within a matter of moments, my pelvic muscles contracted violently. I had expected awkward sex, but I had never anticipated such a quick and spontaneous orgasm.

I didn't mean to but I cried out, partly from shock, partly from gratification. Also partly out of an irrational fear that I'd urinated on myself. I logically understood the wetness was due to my own vaginal secretions, but there was _so_ much of it, more than there had ever been during those quiet times at night when my hands had explored these areas of my body for myself.

He moaned and began to pull himself on top of me. I was still full of apprehension, but my brain was now swimming in hormones and my inhibitions had evaporated. I teemed with anticipation, feeling not only resigned but also strangely receptive to whatever he planned to do. He was so large and it was obvious he was taking care not to bear too much of his weight on my body, but his belly still pushed into my midsection and his hips crushed against mine.

Suddenly I was being pressed and squeezed from every direction by a mass of long limbs and warm, sinewy muscles. He was _so_ warm, almost feverish. I nearly begged for respite, but the startling sensation of pressure probing at the dampness between my legs caused me to falter. Soon I felt myself spreading apart; the feeling was as intriguing as it was novel. He drove deeper, sliding further and further until there was nowhere left for him to go.

"Ah!" I exhaled in a whisper, twisting against the weight of his body, desperate to escape the foreignness and intensity of this experience. He pushed himself away, locking his elbows and retreating from inside the depths of my body, but some instinct caused me to grope at his hips in a feeble attempt to hold him in place. No other encouragement was needed. He crashed inside me again, this time more carefully, his silken meditation robe gliding over mine in a smooth motion. He descended into a steady rhythm of thrusts and grunting, in and out, purposeful and without any hint of enthusiasm, though there was evidently insatiable hunger concealed just below his impersonal surface.

The initial euphoria quickly disappeared but I realized it wasn't so horrible. I turned my eyes back toward the tapestry and eventually decided it would be simpler to close them and just wait for him to be through. I concentrated on my breathing and tried to coordinate the pulsing of our hips into a semi-synchronous choreography because it proved clumsier to just lay there. After several more minutes, I stole a glimpse of the heaving man on top of me and discovered he'd adopted a similar tactic of turning his head away from the act and forcing himself through the motions.

His eyes were closed, just as mine had been. As inappropriate as it felt, it became impossible _not_ to watch him. The muscles in his neck were taut and veins bulged in his forehead and at his throat. The top of his robe had started to come open, revealing a typically masculine chest with light tufts of black hair and small, extraneous green-tinted nipples. Every inch of his skin that I could see was flushed and glinted with moisture.

The action soon took on a frenzied quality and he pressed his entire body against mine so tightly I worried my bones might crack. My head was buzzing and I wriggled beneath him, desperate for oxygen. At first, I thought he understood what I needed because he pushed off of me but in the same motion, shifted his weight onto his left arm and gripped the left side of my face tightly with his right hand. His palm covered my entire cheek and his long, dexterous fingers worked their way into position along my jaw. He wasn't trying to share a simple mind meld with me; he was trying to forge a deeper mating bond.

I was in the middle of gasping for air when our minds fused together a second time. He caught me so unawares that I wasn't prepared to brace myself for this mental intrusion and for several disorienting seconds, it seemed like we were the same person. He was just as confused as I was. He opened his mouth, but instead of speaking words he began to wail sharp syllables of flustered ecstasy. His hips dug into my pelvis with excessive force, hard and sharp and completely without mercy. I was barely aware of any of anything happening to my physical form as we both teetered on a mental precipice, inadvertently glaring into each other's souls.

I came to my senses before he did and jerked my face hard to the left to break his grip and sever the mental connection. He gasped and began to mutter a string of garbled apologies. I was too overwhelmed with emotion to hear him. I writhed and pushed against him but he wouldn't budge. Panic engulfed me. My protests escalated into shoving, slapping, and pleading with him to let me go.

I couldn't breathe through the knot in my throat and when I saw his hand reaching for my face again, I screamed. He was yelling also but I sensed it was out of pain rather than fear or aggression. It was only then that I realized _I_ was in pain too but I couldn't detect where it was coming from. How could sex _be_ this awful? My horror warped my screams into frantic, animalistic howls and turned my pathetic slaps into ferocious punches. His hands closed around my narrow wrists and pinned my arms to the bed.

"Sera!"

" _Please_!" I shrieked. "No, please, _no_!"

He leaned closer to my face, firmly and patiently saying, "Sera, please calm down. I am not going to do anything to you."

I closed my eyes and choked through hysterical sobs. "Please, get off of me," I panted. " _Please_?"

"I will release your wrists if you will stop striking me."

"Why won't you let me go?" I whimpered.

"You are having a vaginal spasm. I _want_ to withdraw from you, but I cannot."

I tried to catch my breath. I cautiously tried to pull my hips away from his, but pain tore through my pubic region and up into my abdomen. He hissed in discomfort: the poor man was tightly locked inside me. My shock and terror morphed into the gravest form of mortification. Why hadn't I predicted this might happen? What an inexperienced _idiot_ I was.

As a twelve-year-old, I had learned in my sexual health classes that vaginal spasms were a common occurrence, particularly in newly sexually active young women, but for all my agonizing over forming this arrangement, I had neglected to consider this awkward possibility. "I am—I am s-so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he grunted, trying to prop himself up. "It is an entirely involuntary action."

I took several deep breaths and managed to open my eyes, embarrassed to find his face hovering over mine and full of concern. Worse than the obvious emotions scrawled across his features was the trickle of green blood oozing from his bottom lip.

"You're bleeding," I cried.

He licked at the blood and raised an exploratory hand to his injury. "My reward for underestimating the power of panic."

"I am—oh, I'm _so_ sorry," I whispered again.

"You did not intend to cause any injury." His tone was as kind as it was dismissive. "Can you bend your knees and draw them closer toward your body?"

He pulled himself into a kneeling position as I dragged my legs into ninety-degree angles around his flanks. Only then did I notice how fatigued I was. I shuddered. Another awkward fact from sexual health class popped into mind—semen contained pheromones that could cause drowsiness in females, likely some evolutionary vestige to encourage females to remain recumbent and increase the likelihood of fertilization. My eyelids were drooping and rather than allow them to remain open so I could be treated to the view of Vulcan's Minister of Science delicately massaging my perineum in an effort to coax my vagina into relinquishing its hold on his genitals, I allowed them to drift all the way closed.

My body was going limp and the last thing I remembered was a gentle ripping sensation between my legs and the distant sound of his voice calling my name.


	6. Anger

**_Sixty years earlier:_ **

T'Mona turned to catch a glimpse of him over her shoulder. The silhouette of her face in the light of the flickering candles made her even more lovely. Yet she seemed troubled.

"Do you not want me to watch you undress?" he asked, desperate to please this woman who had sworn before priests and under oath to be his wife and care for him in this time of need.

"You may watch, if you wish," she said, pulling the robe away from her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He could not draw his eyes away from the slope of her round buttocks or the thickness of her legs. She was a shapely woman and the sight of her nude figure greatly excited him.

She turned slowly, revealing a pair of full breasts with large, slightly upturned greenish nipples. "You are very beautiful," he breathed.

She nodded and approached. With a pair of trembling hands, she reached for the sash at his waist and tugged. He wriggled free of his own robe and they stood completely naked before each other. His lok was so swollen it was almost painful and he burned for her in ways he would not have believed possible until that moment.

"Should I recite the blessing?" she asked.

He exhaled gave her a sheepish nod. He was powerless before her.

"As it was in the dawn of our days, as it will be for all tomorrows. To you, my husband, I consecrate all that I am."

"From you I receive all that I am," he replied in short order, his words quick and desperate.

She reached for his quaking hands and held them in hers. From where did she derive such confidence? She looked him squarely in the eye and hummed, "As it was in the beginning, so shall it be now."

"Two bodies, one mind," he breathed, allowing her to draw his hands up to her face.

When their minds linked, he was all at once lost to her. Instinct drove his body toward hers and he quickly pushed her toward the bed, hungry to be within her. She met his eagerness with composed, commanding grace, leveraging his weight against him and pivoting and flipping him around so quickly that his hands slipped from her face and he became the one lying flat on his back upon the mattress.

"Forgive me," he breathed, worried that his boyish desperation had offended her.

He started to sit up but she advanced, stopping to rest her belly against his knees. "Be calm, husband."

She climbed atop him, her pendulous breasts swaying with the motion of her body. He laid back, ready to submit himself to her wholly. "Do you want to taste me?" she asked, her nipples ticking his throat.

He inhaled slowly. "Please."

She crawled over his chest and positioned his face between her legs. His tongue emerged from his mouth, probing and curious to explore the folds of her femininity. He lapped at her, awkwardly but hungrily, gripping her strong thighs and driven forward by the guttural moans escaping her lips. He enjoyed the slightly sweet, acid taste of his new wife. It was not long before she began to shudder and shriek and the satisfaction of giving her pleasure was second only to his growing need to share in her body.

He tried a second time to move into a dominant role, but she would not be conquered. Her hands pressed into his shoulders as she lowered herself onto him, sending all of his hormones into an absolute frenzy. As if on instinct, his hips began to buck against her, frantic to find an appropriate mating rhythm. She entertained his desire, rolling her hips along his in equal measure. It took less than a minute for him to release within her.

She looked down at him with curious eyes and Soren felt ashamed that he could not exercise better control over himself. She began to pull away from his body, but for the first time that evening, a look of mild surprise crossed her face.

"Is something wrong?" he asked.

She wriggled and pulled away again, which sent a ripple of pain through his genitals and up into his abdomen. He hissed and grabbed her hips to stop her from moving.

She covered her mouth with her hands and looked down between her legs. "I think—I appear to be… _stuck_."

Soren exhaled and stared up at the ceiling. He had so little experience with mating, but he understood vaginal spasms were a perfectly common thing, particularly in younger, sexually inexperienced women.

She muttered, "I am sorry, I had wanted to please you and—"

He interrupted her apology by gripping her hands and drawing her down to his level. "I enjoy being inside you."

"I enjoy it also," she confessed, touching the tips of their noses together.

"It is no inconvenience to be trapped within you," he admitted.

Much to his surprise, T'Mona, a woman whose mastery of logic he greatly admired, uttered a sharp laugh. It was infectious and it took everything he had to avoid smiling along with her, but everything he had wasn't enough. They giggled and kissed and T'Mona finally allowed herself to be rolled over onto her back.

He loved her dearly and he would love her all the days of his life.

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

Soren massaged his aching penis and glanced at the scrawny, unconscious woman laying sprawled before him. He was coiled around so many conflicting and confusing emotions. The memory of his first time with T'Mona was burned into his mind and filled him with unconceivable sadness, as was the memory of what he'd just done to this poor young woman.

Sera was T'Mona's ultimate antithesis and he had supposed that would make it easier because he would be more difficult to drawn comparisons between the two women, but nothing about this was easy. He appreciated this stranger for her willingness to save him, but he hated her for usurping T'Mona's place in his bed, even if it was out of necessity.

Why had he tried to forge an intimate mating bond with this stranger? His mind flashed back to just moments earlier, when he had looked down and realized her vibrant blue eyes were upon him. Some deep, ancient instinct had demanded he link his mind with hers in a way that was traditionally only shared between bonded mates. She had consented to a mind meld, but she had not consented to a highly intimate mating bond.

She had panicked and fought like a cornered animal, but looking back at the way things had transpired, he could not blame her. What would she think of him when she woke? What if she begged to leave? They had a contract, but no legal contract would permit him to force himself upon her.

He rubbed his temples with his fingertips, finally conscious of his exhaustion but still certain he would be unable to sleep. As he drew his hands away, he noticed blood on his left palm. Looking down, he realized it had come from his penis. Only then did he recognize the extent of Sera's injuries.

Blood-tinged semen oozed from between her thighs and at first, he wondered if she was menstruating, but he glanced at the fingers of his right hand, the ones he'd used to massage her sex glands, and noted they weren't bloody. The only logical conclusion was that she had sustained significant damage to her vaginal mucosa during intercourse. He suspected the worst of her injuries had come toward the very end from her panic at an unanticipated vaginal spasm, and he was instantly torn between wanting to care for her wounds and wanting to respect her modesty. What was the logical thing to do?

He would need to mate with her several more times and he feared if he did nothing to ease her discomfort, she would wake in incredible pain and be unreceptive to the prospect of further coupling. And yet she had been so shy that the thought of pulling her legs apart and repairing the damage to her most private area while she was unconscious was almost too much to bear.

He balled his hands into fists. He seethed at his inability to recognize the best option. It was apparent his mind was clearer than it had been in weeks, but he was still very much in the throes of pon farr. He took stock of the bed linens and noted that they were a wet, disheveled mess and he supposed he should change them, both as a matter of hygiene and to avoid alarming her when she woke up.

He gently rolled out of bed and opened the closet, frustrated to only find winter clothing and rarely used household items. An investigation of the closets in the bathroom and hallways revealed many more obscure knickknacks, but no spare linens. It was an annoyance, but it was also a sign of his uniquely charmed life.

He had been born in this house and had lived here throughout his adolescence. Due to his position as Science Minister, his primary residence was now in the city, but he still returned to this ancestral home several times per year. After more than eight decades of life, he supposed he should know where the sheets and blankets were stored, but he did not.

Reasoning that he would need to clean the sheets anyway to avoid the household staff asking questions upon their return, he decided he would temporarily move her to his bed, strip and launder the soiled sheets, and then return her to the spare bedroom before she could wake.

He found her much as he'd left her, legs splayed apart and robe half open, cinched in place around her waist by a narrow silken tie. He gently pulled the garment closed around her slender body to preserve her dignity, then rolled her to the edge of the bed and lifted her into his arms. She was impossibly light. Even if the hormones that enhanced aggression and strength weren't coursing through his body, he suspected he would still be able to carry her with minimal difficulty.

As he began to walk toward his adjacent bedroom, she moaned softly and turned her head toward his chest, nuzzling her cheek against his pectoral muscle. It was not a thing consciously done, but there was such trust and affection in this minor action.

When Soren deposited her into his own bed, he took great care to ensure her robe was still covering her body, but again found himself confronted with how to tend to her injuries. He paced back and forth for several minutes before ultimately surrendering to his desire to maintain her comfort. He fetched the first aid kit from his bathroom and quickly loaded a cannister of analgesic into the hypospray to reduce any mild pain and inflammation.

It took several minutes to work up the nerve, but he eventually drew her legs apart and gently slid the probe of the dermal regenerator within her to mend the shredded tissues of her vaginal tract. She whimpered and rolled over onto her side, but she did not wake. He took a damp washcloth to the drying blood and seminal fluid trailing down her thighs, then neatly pulled her robe back over her legs and drew the light blanket up from the foot of the bed to cover her. He did not know for certain how long she would sleep. He also was not certain it had been right to touch her without her consent, even if it was to provide rudimentary medical care, but he hoped she would be more comfortable.

When he returned to the bathroom, he took stock of his face in the mirror. She had split his lip during her panic and though the blood had dried, the wound still ached. He stretched his lips over his teeth, wincing as the newly-formed clot stretched and tore to reveal a fresh dot of blood. He peered closer and gently probed the skin around his left eye, finding it tender to the touch. There would likely be a dark circle around it by morning.

He took the dermal regenerator to his own face, gave himself a dose of analgesic, and then set about the business of stripping the sheets from the bed. After putting them in the sonic launderer and waiting the prescribed three minutes for them to be cleansed of their stains, he returned them to the guest bedroom adjacent to his own quarters. With his chores complete, he sank to his knees by the bedside and tried to take stock of the events of the past few hours.

His heart was heavy and shattered. He wanted to weep, but the thought of the young woman currently lying in his marital bed with the earliest beginnings of a child possibly forming in her belly filled him with a furious anguish. More upsetting still was the fact that an erection began to press against his thigh, urging him to mate again.

Every dark feeling of disgust and rage he'd felt in recent months bubbled to the surface at his complete inability to control anything. He felt as powerless over his own body as he'd been to prevent T'Mona's death. He wiped away moisture from his eyes with a trembling hand and as he watched the tremor radiate through his digits, whatever was left of his logic snapped in half.

He gripped the sheets off the freshly made bed and pulled, hard enough to dislodge the mattress. He heaved and yanked and tore, oblivious to the sound of fluttering and ripping fabric. The lamp on the nightstand became his next victim, hurled into the wall with such force that it not only demolished the object, it left a lamp-sized dent where it had struck.

He screamed and seethed and destroyed, pulling apart the room's fixtures in a manic frenzy. He was winding his arm back to hurl a ceremonial candle at the wall when he froze, paralyzed by the image of Sera cowering in the doorway between the rooms. If she was trying at all to control her shock and fear, she was doing it rather badly.

His hand dropped to his side and the candle slipped from his grip, dropping to the hard, cold floor with a soft and waxy thump. They watched each other for a number of long seconds, their eyes curious and wary, before she began to take short, hesitant steps toward him. When she was within arm's reach, she stretched out a hand toward his face, but he lurched away.

"Leave me," he spat.

"No," she replied in a tremulous voice.

"Get _out_ ," he barked, struggling to keep his tone level and his hands still.

"Why are you hurting yourself?" she whispered.

His eyes dropped and he was shocked to discover he was naked and bore angry green lines, some of them bloody, across his chest. How had that happened?

"Minister, _please_ ," she urged.

She reached a shaking hand toward his face a second time but he shoved it away in order that he might meld with her first. She made no effort to stop him. A small voice in the back of his mind begged him to release her, but rather than panic or struggle, Sera stood and watched him, first with confused eyes, then with volatile ones. Whatever fury he was currently experiencing seemed to be spilling over into her and catching fire. He held her tighter, but her gaze never faltered and her blue eyes burned holes through his consciousness and threatened combustion.

Before he knew it, his mouth was upon her lips, his tongue ravenously twisting around hers. His hands never lost contact and their minds melted together in a swirl of emotions and images that felt familiar but weren't entirely his own. His kisses grew more frantic until he finally managed to tear his mouth away and flip her around. He tore at her robe, hiking it up to her waist as he shoved her toward the bare mattress lying upside down on the floor. She yelped in surprise when he entered her, but rather than fight back, she sank to her hands and knees and allowed him to fill his need.

At least, at _first_. After nearly a minute of frenzied thrusting, he tried to grab her face a second time but she twisted away from his reach and lifted off of her hands and onto her knees, arching her back until it was pressed against his chest. Her hips twirled in a disjointed and inexperienced circular rhythm, grinding against him in a way that nearly threatened to send him over the edge then and there.

"Let me touch your mind," he growled.

Instead of allowing his request, she pulled away and spun in a half circle on her knees to face him. A tiny, shivering hand pressed against his jaw and the anger began to melt away. She was breathing hard and her eyes darted over his features in obvious bewilderment. He lifted his hands, desperate to touch her. He groped her petite breasts and fumbled at her hips as he struggled to pin her down and mount her again, but this time, she refused to submit.

Her nails tore into the flesh of his back and her teeth sank into his neck, jaw, and shoulders. He sensed she was drawing blood, but he barely registered pain. Every fiber of him demanded to be with her, to be inside of her and apart of her. What finally drew him back to his senses was the sharp, disorienting agony of her elbow smashing into his nose. His head snapped back and he fell backwards onto his haunches, his vision blurry from involuntary tears.

She took his face in her hands again and murmured, "Minister, please, calm down."

"I can't," he choked.

"You _can_." She bared her teeth and nodded. "You can."

"I'm sorry," he shuddered, grasping and pulling at the hair on his head, as if to physically punish himself.

She brushed his hands away, bobbed her head, and rested her forehead against his as she brought her hand back to his cheek. "I know."

"I need you."

"I know you need her," Sera whispered. "And I am sorry she cannot be here for you."

He started to sob, which quickly turned into screams of the deepest emotional pain he'd experienced since T'Mona's funeral. Though he was certainly physically strong enough to break free of her hold, he lacked the emotional power, and so he allowed himself to be held and consoled. He curled into her and she stroked his hair with her free hand, never losing the mental connection between them.

Gradually, his body slackened against her as his fit abated. They lay together for a time, still and silent. He drew in ragged breaths through his mouth as his nose was too mangled to tend to the work of respiration. He nestled his head against her abdomen, lulled by the steady beating of her heart. He was more relaxed than he had been in months, but even still, his erection would not subside.

When he could stand it no longer, he raised a hand and placed it on her navel, then allowed his fingers to trail downward to the part between her legs. Her hand came up to rest on the back of his and initially, he believed she intended to stop him, but much to his surprise, she guided him to that most tender area. His thumb began to draw circles around her clitoris, lightly at first but then firmly, all the while coaxed by the swaying of her body in response to his touch.

Her hips bucked against his hand and they quickly rolled onto their left sides. He slipped within her and she pressed into him, spurring him onward. He propped himself up on his left elbow and reached his right arm around her chest to draw her closer still, and they soon descended into desperate pulses, strained kisses, and fumbling mind melds. He released inside her after several minutes, moaning a gruff cry of ecstasy into her ear. As his thrusts fell away into stillness, she reached back, took his hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

He tried to shift his weight and immediately recognized that he was trapped inside her a second time, but neither of them resisted the pull of her spasm. They lie still and without words and it wasn't long before they were both lost in a maze of dreams.


	7. Bargaining

**_Sixteen years earlier:_ **

I slinked to the end of the hall toward the top of the stairs on silent feet, curious to know who my mother was talking to, or rather, arguing with. The voice was masculine and seemed familiar, though I could not think of who he might be. My view from the top of the staircase revealed the back of my mother's head and the bottom half of his face. I had seen him before but did not know his name.

His identity was easy enough to deduce when my mother said, "I do not care that you have found a wife, nor do I care what an unorthodox choice she is, but the terms of our agreement stipulate that you will give me another child in five years' time."

"I am aware. It is why I have come to negotiate with you."

"I want a third child," my mother insisted.

"That will be quite impossible."

"Have you told your human wife about me?"

There was a long pause. "I will tell her, when she is better acquainted with Vulcan traditions."

"And you will tell her about your children also?"

"Our arrangement is such that you have never allowed them to be my children in any other sense than a biological one. You will not permit me to even see them. They are not my children."

"So what is left for me to deduce, other than that you intend to terminate our arrangement?"

"I will remind you that our arrangement left us both free to seek out mates and marry, if we ever found a suitable partner. And was it not you who desired to add such a clause?"

"And you told me that you never had any intention of marrying. Our contract guarantees me three children, not two. I am entitled to a third of your estate should you violate our agreement."

"This is why I've come to speak with you. My choice of mate has caused me to be disinherited by my family. You are free to take a third of my estate, but a third of nothing is still nothing. I have only what income I make. You could take your case before the high court and win, but you must see that—"

"Do you intend to continue providing our allowance?" my mother asked.

"I will do that, and I will do it gladly. I will provide for them and promote their interests wherever I can, just as I have always promised. You tell me Sera has a great aptitude for science. As regent of the Vulcan Science Academy, I can ensure her admission when she is of age. I realize it is too soon to know where Sybok's talents lie, but I—"

"I saved your life when you were only days away from death," my mother interrupted.

His lips thinned slightly. "And I am immeasurably grateful."

"So what is there to negotiate? I will not have a third child and you have artfully found a way to discard our agreement by being disinherited by your family for your bizarre choice of wife. I have no recourse to object. I have nothing to bargain with, other than to appeal to your sense of honor. I could try to ruin you through the high court, but such a scandal would only cause you to lose your ambassadorship. Your financial resources would dwindle and then you would not even be able to provide our allowance."

"So you see that I am not in a position to bargain either."

"Through your own selfish and illogical decision to marry a human woman on a whim."

He gave a small nod. "It was my hope that we could part on amicable terms."

"Leave," she demanded.

He proceeded to the door but just happened to glance upward at the right moment to catch a glimpse of my nine-year-old face watching him intently from the top of the stairs. His unsentimental expression softened and he looked prepared to speak to me, but I glowered in reply. My father was hurting my mother. He had been such an abstract thing to me for almost all of my life and despite all the progress I had made in learning to master my emotions, I could not help but hate hm.

"Leave," my mother repeated.

He turned and was gone.

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

I was awake long before I opened my eyes. His breathy snores pierced the solitude of the pre-dawn morning, echoing slightly off the hard surfaces of the room. There was a chill in the air, but the minister's feverish belly pressed against my back and kept me warm. Liquid memories of the past few hours glided through my consciousness; some of them made sense but many didn't, which made it difficult to discern where my memories ended and his began.

I vaguely recalled waking up in a strange bed and finding Minister Soren destroying the adjacent bedroom, his chest covered with self-inflicted scratches. Then I had a vision of crawling atop him and allowing him to lick me between my legs—something that both intrigued and aroused me—but I had the sense I'd never done anything like that before. In my vision, I was far more buxom than I was in reality and my voice was not my own. I glanced down in the darkness and could just barely make out my small, petite breasts hiding beneath the minister's right arm. I suspected I had been witness to a misplaced memory of his former life.

Then there was the anger. I had been so enraged but I couldn't say why. I had this feeling I'd struck him in the face with my elbow as he was trying to pin me beneath him, both of us seemingly bent on mating to the death out of unknowable and half-crazed wrath. What had made me so furious? Or had _he_ been the angry one?

My belly growled, begging to be filled. My bladder stretched, desperate to be emptied. It took several minutes of slow, patient movements, but I managed to wriggle free from his grip and rolled off the mattress into a standing position, wincing at the stiffness in my legs, midsection, and back. I ignored the sticky feeling between my thighs, drew my robe around my body, and then tiptoed to the bathroom and shut the door behind me as quietly as I could manage. When the lights were turned on, I reeled at the sight of myself in the long mirror.

My hair was disheveled and my complexion looked gray behind streaks of caked, dried blood along my jaw and face. I reached down to peel back my robe, alarmed at the sight of dark crescents of oxidized blood buried under my fingernails. What I discovered beneath the light fabric were more grisly trails of mostly dried blood. I pawed and probed at my aching body to find a source of all this gore, but a voice from the depths of my mind told me the blood was not mine.

There were other points of concern. I sported dark, handprint-shaped bruises on my hips, as well as other darkening contusions on my buttocks and the backs of my forearms. I knew we had been rough with each other, but it had not seemed that our activity was severe enough to result in _this_. Why could I not remember? I closed my eyes and delved into my memories, but they were a blur of discordant and asynchronous images.

I relieved my bladder and while on the toilet, carefully wiped away the drying semen on my inner thighs. It struck me for the first time since beginning this endeavor that I was likely already on my way to motherhood. I lightly caressed my flat belly, trying to imagine it bulging from the growth of a child. I quickly dismissed my reverie and was considering helping myself to the sonic shower when a light knock on the door caused me to jump. His voice was patient and muffled. "Sera?"

"Yes?"

"May I enter?"

He sounded calm and rational enough, so I quickly pulled my robe closed and replied, "Yes."

His image appeared in the doorway, broken and frightening. No amount of training in logic could prevent me from recoiling in horror. He was a mess of green. Circular wounds at his neck had sent waterfalls of blood pouring down the front of his light gray meditation robe. It had also sprouted from his now crooked nose, making him appear as though he had a bloody moustache.

I lightly covered my mouth with my hand and fought to keep tears from welling in my eyes. " _Oh_."

He blinked several times at the bright light as he entered the bathroom, reacting to his reflection much as I had reacted to my own only moments ago. His eyes widened and he pressed the tips of his fingers to the bridge of his mangled nose, only to jerk his hands away and inhale in pain.

"I did that to you," I announced, ashamed of my violence.

"If my memory serves me correctly—though I confess I'm not certain it does—you struck me to prevent me forcing myself upon you."

"You weren't trying to force me, you just—" I faltered. I wasn't sure how I knew, but I did. "I do not believe there was any malicious intent or desire to satiate lust. There was only need. I am so sorry I hurt you. I do not know what came over me."

"I believe it is my fault," he explained, raising a hand to one of the wounds on his neck. "I should never have forced a mating bond upon you during our initial encounter. I believe that by doing that, I have caused you to feel some of my emotions. I was feeling angry and frustrated, and so you did also."

"Is that really what pon farr is like for you?" I asked, surprised I no longer felt the urge to avoid discussing his unpleasant condition directly.

"Not typically, no. Before when I was married—" He hesitated, shaking his head as if to rid himself of a memory. "My mate and I were very close. I hardly experienced any symptoms because we coupled frequently."

"I am sorry she is no longer here."

"As am I," he agreed. He tilted his chin in my direction, keeping his eyes cast on the floor. "Thank you for your kindness. I still feel it necessary to apologize for—"

"It is nothing," I interrupted.

"I trust I can rely on you to speak of any of this to no one."

"Never," I replied. "Say no more about it."

He nodded. "I would like to tend to my injuries. I suspect you have some as well."

"Nothing quite so bad as yours," I breathed, inching forward and stretching out a hand to his neck.

"Follow me." He led me through the demolished bedroom and into the adjacent chamber before escorting me to the lavatory where he produced a black box from under a cabinet. As I walked behind him, I observed the bloody marks soaked into the back of his robe and gazed at my soiled fingernails in shame. How could I have done _that_?

"Will you let me help you?" I asked, taking a hypospray from the medical kit.

"I can manage," he insisted.

"You can't reach the ones on your back," I argued. "And your movements are so stiff. You must be in incredible pain and I am the cause of it. Please."

He lifted himself atop the long counter and stared straight ahead. I gave him a dose of pain reliever and gently massaged the bites on his neck with a moist, warm washcloth. It took tremendous effort to ignore the shame that I had literally gnawed at his flesh. He winced, but he did not shrink away from my touch. As I began sealing the wounds with the dermal regenerator, I summoned the nerve to ask, "Can you remove your robe—at least to the waist so I may—you don't have to—"

"We have seen each other in far greater states of undress," he reminded me, shrugging his shoulders and twisting them free of the garment to allow it to slide down his midsection. "But I do not wish to offend you. I will comply."

I managed to maintain my poise as I tended to more bites and deep scratches. "I have heard—does the pain… _help_?"

He cast his eyes in my direction and because we were already in such close proximity, it felt very intimate. "Ritual combat is allegedly a way to assuage oneself of…pon farr. I had always been skeptical of such claims, but now I believe there may be some truth to it."

"Is it resolved then?"

He closed his eyes. "I slept for the first time in days, which is an encouraging sign, but my thoughts are still tattered and I do not feel tired or hungry as I ought. I am improving, but I regret that I must ask you to mate with me again."

"I understand."

"I am sorry," he said, finally looking me in the eye.

"Do not be. This is part of the arrangement. I am here for as long as you require."

"I must make a confession," he said, not taking his eyes off me. "Earlier, after our first mating, you had fallen asleep…"

His words trailed off and to prompt him, I added, "You moved me to the other bedroom."

"Yes. You were bleeding and the sheets needed to be replaced. But when I relocated you, I took it upon myself to—I used the dermal regenerator to—you had torn quite badly from your spasm."

"I see," I replied, unsure how to receive this kind of information.

"You evidently did not consent to this and I must admit my motivations were not entirely selfless. I did not wish for you to wake and be in pain for your own sake, but I was also concerned you would not want to continue with our arrangement."

"May I confess something to you?"

He finally looked away. "You may."

I took a slow breath. "When I discovered I had been matched with you, I resolved to do whatever you asked of me. I only saw your title and though I admire your work very much and was content that I would be saving your life, my initial motivations were also almost entirely selfish."

"And now?" he asked.

"I am better acquainted with you now. And I thank you for looking after me, even though you did not have my permission. It was preferable to waking up in pain. Now, what should we do about your nose?"

He slid off the counter and onto his feet, pivoting to observe himself in the mirror. He drew in a deep breath, took his nose between his flattened palms, and jerked it straight, sending trickles of new blood over his lip. I quickly handed him a towel and ignored my intense desire to hold him through his discomfort.

"Thank you," he sniffed, dabbing at the blood and blotting away tears.

"Would you like more analgesic?" I asked, bending down to extract the hypospray from the box on the floor. I leaned over but quickly I found myself leaning much too far, instantly overcome with a faint sensation. I stumbled forward onto my hands and knees, confused why I couldn't maintain my balance.

Minister Soren quickly joined me on the floor and reached out a trembling hand. "Are you well?"

I pulled myself into a sitting position. "I was dizzy." My stomach issued an audible grumble, as if to offer its own excuse. "I am a bit hungry," I admitted. "I haven't eaten in days."

"I had thought you wanted several hours to eat and meditate before we began," he said, adopting a similar sitting position.

"I have another confession," I said, swallowing the bile at the back of my throat. "I didn't eat because I was afraid I would become nervous and vomit on you and after everything that has happened, I am glad I spared us that."

"After everything that's happened, I do not believe it would have made any difference." He gave me a serious look that quickly transformed into a smile, then a light laugh.

He covered his mouth to conceal his emotions; his cheeks began to flush green. I offered a small, reassuring smile. "It is good to see you are capable of joy."

"I am embarrassed by my inability to control my emotions still," he explained. "I only want to be cured of this regrettable affliction."

I placed a gentle hand on his knee, deliberately avoiding taking notice of his growing erection. "Would you like to mate again?"

"I fear it is necessary," he said, rising to his feet before helping me to mine. "But first I would like to wash and see that you are fed."

"Should I leave you alone?" I asked, stealing a glance toward the door.

"If that is what you prefer, though I do not mind if you stay."

"I would like to wash also," I said. I looked at my bloody fingernails.

We watched each other, waiting for some sign of discomfort or approval, but neither of our expressions changed. Eventually he threw off his robe and walked past me into the shower stall. I discarded my own wrinkled and soiled meditation robe and joined him. The pulses of the sonic shower felt delicious to my tired and aching body and it was evident they were having a similar effect on the minister. We took far longer than was necessary and after more than twenty minutes, I felt a curious, exploratory hand settle on my waist. Thinking he meant to have me again, I turned to face him and began considering the logistics of mating in a sonic shower, but he murmured, "I will get you clean clothing. Excuse me."

When I stepped out of the shower several minutes later, he had returned with a meditation robe that was slightly larger than the one I'd had before. I drew my arms into the sleeves, thinking it felt exceptionally silky. "Thank you."

I followed him downstairs, past the elegant mural and through a wide hallway into a kitchen that was more than double the size of the room I was currently renting. I replicated a bowl of balkrat, a light pasta dish with a variety of vegetables, and sat down at the servant's table at the end of a long preparatory station. Minister Soren joined me with a small bowl of plomeek soup.

We ate in relative silence for several minutes, serenaded only by the sounds of clinking silverware against porcelain dishes. I devoured my meal with fervor, but the minister merely licked at droplets of the liquid in his spoon. I asked, "You are not hungry still?"

He shook his head. "May I ask a personal query?"

"I did not believe there was much room between us for secrets or private matters following recent events," I replied.

"Is your father Ambassador Sarek?"

I stared at him. He had spent time fumbling through my mind just as I had explored his, so of course he had figured this out. "Why do you want to know?"

"I was curious. I saw pieces of your memories."

I scraped the last bit of noodles from the bowl, shoved them in my mouth, and rose to place my dish in the reclaimator by the sink. "Why is my parentage any of your concern?"

I set my dish on the counter and stood with my hands on the edge, propping myself up and wondering why I had been so rude. I turned to apologize and found him standing behind me.

"I am sorry for mentioning him," Minister Soren said. "Forgive me."

"I do not imagine you have any reason to like my father," I mused. "He has always been a political opponent of yours, I believe."

He thought to himself carefully and admitted, "You are correct. We agree on very little and often seek to antagonize one another. It is not logical, but we have never been friends."

"I do not like him either," I confessed. 

He took a step toward me. "If I understand your memories correctly, he rejected you and your family when you were a child. Your low regard for him is understandable."

I leaned back against the counter and stretched out a hand to his face, fully expecting him to pull away, but to my surprise, he leaned in to my touch. My fingers made contact with his jaw to meld our minds together, sending a jolt of raw energy through me. He was aroused and suddenly, so was I.

"Then do you derive some kind of pleasure out of mating with his daughter?" I asked. 

He pressed his lok against my thigh, drawing his face closer to mine. I could feel his warm breath against my neck and it tickled when he whispered in my ear, "Does it excite you to mate with someone so opposed to the father you despise?"

"I never thought about it until now, but probably."

He laughed, breaking the intense passion of the moment. Caught by surprise, I found myself laughing with him. We both quickly came to our senses and he rested his palms out the counter on either side of me, leaning forward once again.

"What a strange pair we are," I declared.

The emotion in his eyes metamorphosed from amusement to desire. He scanned my features, clearly reflecting on some inner monologue. Then he asked, "Will you permit me to taste you?"

I tried to conceal my surprise at such a request. My mind reeled and recalled the unusual memory of the voluptuous woman sitting astride him as he lapped at her. I could feel my face burning, instantly curious to know what it was like while also too shy to directly ask.

My head began nodding and soon he had pushed me up onto the counter and buried his face between my legs. The feel of his firm, wet tongue rolling over my most private parts was a kind of pleasure I couldn't fathom had existed until now. I wanted to hold still, but rather than just allow it to happen, I felt determined to enjoy it. I wriggled and moaned in excitement, grinding my hips against his intimate attentions. The warm feelings within me were building to an inevitable conclusion and just as my muscles stiffened to give way to an orgasm, he stood and plunged into me.

I fell backwards, trying to catch myself on the handle of one of the upper cabinets, but he caught me and drew me closer to his chest. I threw my arms around his neck and spread my legs wider, eager to allow him to be within me as fully as possible. The feeling of this experience was electric enough, but he reached his hand between us and began to massage my clitoris, which quickly sent me spiraling back toward ecstasy.

I pulsed and quivered against him and nearly begged him to stop, if only because the pleasure was so extreme, but when I opened my mouth, all that came out was a deep, animalistic groan. He quaked against me and drove deeper, tossing his head back to emit a satisfied cry of his own. Several more slow, intense thrusts, and I knew he was done.

When our heart rates finally slowed to a more appropriate pace, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against mine. We touched each other's faces at the same time to initiate a bond and surprised ourselves with a new array of unexpected emotions. Most surprising of all was the way my lips found his, as if on instinct. I found myself thinking that I was almost happy. 


	8. Grief

**_Four months earlier:_ **

"I will be at temple all day," T'Mona announced, drawing her purple scarf over her hair.

Soren's eyes flicked in his wife's direction. She stood in the doorway, her body poised, natural, and beautiful. She took careful stock of his attentions and raised her chin. "Soren?"

He blinked. "Yes?"

"Did you hear me?"

Soren reined in his wandering mind and refocused his gaze. "You will spend the day at temple. I was unaware you required my verbal acknowledgment."

Her eyes narrowed slightly. "I mentioned it because I had thought you would want to know I would not be home for end meal."

Soren turned his teacup a quarter turn, gripped the handle tenderly, and took a sip. "You have spent much of your time at temple in recent months."

"The last of our children has finally left home and you have been engrossed with your work at the ministry. I have little else to occupy my time," she replied, folding her hands in front of her.

Soren nodded in agreement and took another sip. "Then you should do as you like."

"Yet I sense you do not want me to go."

"If that were true, I would have said so."

"No," she asserted. "You wouldn't."

His wife had a unique habit of being correct in interpreting her husband's mood, and a rare talent for boldness that never ventured quite into rudeness. "I did mean it when I said you should do as you like, but there have been many threats against temples lately. My original statement was made from a place of trepidation."

Her jaw tightened. "I will not live my life as a slave to the logic extremists who would pervert Surak's teachings."

He logically accepted the merits of her position, but that did not change his stance on the matter. As Minister of Science, he received the daily intelligence reports and understood the true gravity of the situation in ways that she never could. Protocol prevented him from telling her so because she lacked of the necessary security credentials, but only two weeks earlier, the authorities had thwarted a bombing at the very temple she intended to spend the day at.

She approached, extended her right hand, and gently touched the tips of her fingers to his. "Your mind is scattered, husband."

"I did not sleep well last night. I have much work to do today."

"You may cast the blame on your work, but I believe your time approaches." She took hold of his hand and lifted it for inspection. He had noticed the tiniest beginnings of tremors in his hands only a week ago. She murmured, "It occurs to me it has been more than a month since we last mated."

"Forty-one days," he replied.

She thought to herself. "Has it been? I feel confident it has only been forty."

"Forty days, twenty hours, precisely," he explained. "I took to the liberty of rounding to the nearest whole number."

"Ah, yes," she agreed. "Though you have spent the past thirty-eight days on Earth representing the Vulcan High Council and you did not take me with you. Your celibacy can hardly be considered my fault."

He gently tugged his hand away from her grip to settle it on her waist, allowing himself to be aroused by the feel of her body. Of all her features, he enjoyed the curve of her hips second only to the swell of her breasts. She swatted his hand away. "The sun will rise soon. I wish to be there to light a candle for the event."

He wasn't sure why he judged that moment to be correct, but he chose the ensuing silence to pose a question he'd been lately reflecting upon. "Would you consider having another child?"

The wry look in T'Mona's eyes transformed to cold surprise. "I believe I made it very clear from the day we were bonded that I only wanted three children. We have three children, and they have all grown and left home. The youngest only recently, I might add."

"I am aware," he conceded. "I speak hypothetically and merely wished to inquire whether you would ever consider it."

Her eyes narrowed. "I suppose you imagine if I had an infant to care for, I would spend more time at home and less time at temple?"

"I _had_ considered that," he admitted. "Among other things."

"And yet there are many other pursuits you might have recommended other than seeking to thrust motherhood upon me for a fourth time. Charitable work, perhaps? Gardening?"

"You dislike being out of doors," he reminded her. "And you've always been fond of children."

"I am fond of children. I care deeply for our sons and am grateful to you for providing them to me. But I am nearly eighty-four years old."

"Many women far older than you have become mothers," he countered. "Though I acknowledge we are not as young as we once were. I believe if we _were_ to have another child, we should do it within the next decade and I had thought that with pon farr approaching—"

She held up a hand. "You are father to three thriving sons and you have never expressed an interest in expanding our family beyond them until now. Why this sudden desire for another child?"

He finally admitted aloud what he's struggled to reconcile with himself during his most recent meditations. "I feel myself growing older. Stagnant, even."

Her expression softened. "Another child will not make you younger."

"No, but it would allow me forget for a time that I am growing older."

"And what will happen when he or she leaves home in twenty years? Will you ask me for a fifth?"

He shook his head. "No."

"My logic is sound," she insisted. "Perhaps it is you who requires a hobby."

"I know your logic is sound," he replied. "And perhaps you are right."

She stroked his hand to initiate ozh'esta. Were it not for the fact that cook was due to enter the kitchen at any moment to begin preparing food for the day's first meal, he might have succumbed to the urge to push her onto the counter and have her right then and there.

"Perhaps I am being unfair," she mused. "I raised the first three children and did it gladly. If you were to be the primary caretaker of any future children, perhaps I could consider having more."

He hesitated, reflecting on her surprising proposal of compromise. His consideration evidently startled his wife.

"You cannot legitimately be contemplating such an arrangement," she scoffed, not bothering to hide the tiny smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

"You made an offer. It would be illogical not to consider it, at least."

"Forgive me. My offer was insincere."

"Teasing is illogical," he replied, wrestling to conceal his disappointment.

"Very illogical," she admitted, clasping his hand between hers.

"You have always been more emotional than most."

With a flippant tone she retorted, "Which is all the more reason I should hurry to temple and ruminate on my logical transgressions."

Soren nodded, unsure what else to say.

T'Mona uttered a tiny sigh and studied his face carefully. "Do you truly want more children?"

"Not if you do not."

"I would not object to more children, I only object to sacrificing what remains of the prime of my life to raising more of them. I had never considered that you might be willing to forfeit your career for more domestic pursuits. You have worked so diligently to achieve your current position and your salary is what sustains our household."

"Serving as Vulcan's Minister of Science has been rewarding," he confessed. "But I am hardly the only person qualified for such an office. It also keeps me away from you quite often. As to our financial considerations, I have a substantial inheritance."

T'Mona cast her eyes downward. It was times like this that she was most difficult to read. "I will be home later this evening. Perhaps we should revisit this conversation then."

They bid each other goodbye and Soren went about his morning routine, eating a small first meal, dressing, and leaving the house just as the sun peeked over the horizon. He was in the midst of a virtual conference with the Logistics and Transportation Ministry when a sharp, severe pain tore through the center of his abdomen and up into his chest. He gasped and sank to his knees, wondering if he were experiencing a cardiac event.

He was transported immediately to the closest hospital, but healers could find no physiological basis for his symptoms. He was given a mild sedative and attached to several monitors, but was quickly abandoned by everyone except a lone nurse when the rest of the staff were called away to receive a number of traumatic injuries. It was just occurring to him that he felt strangely empty and isolated when Vedek entered the room wearing a stark expression that Soren had never seen.

His aide's words confirmed what his body and soul already knew. A temple bombing in central Shi'Kahr had killed thousands. There was no official estimate of the casualties yet, but it was clear it was already the worst terrorist incident on Vulcan since the Vulcan Reformation.

Though thousands had perished, thousands more were being pulled from the rubble even now and transported to hospitals all over the planet, and Vedek reminded him to be optimistic that T'Mona would be among the survivors. But Soren knew. The world was changing and he knew he would be facing it alone.

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

Soren held Sera's slackening body against his chest, allowing her to drift to sleep. She was still perched on the counter, his lok inside her, her body succumbing to a rush of pheromones. He recalled his last conversation with T'Mona had occurred here, and how even then he'd wanted to hoist her onto this very spot and mate with her just as his pon farr had been beginning.

Sera whimpered softly and Soren shifted his weight and withdrew from inside her, sending a rush of semen spilling onto the stone surface beneath her. It seemed so strange, feeling torn between sadness for T'Mona and growing affection for her temporary replacement. This young woman was a very poor substitute for his lost wife, but perhaps the problem was that he supposed Sera would ever try to live up to his wife. T'Mona was T'Mona and Sera was Sera. Comparing them would be unfair.

Sera was her own woman and clearly had her own merits. She was a fellow scientist. She knew what she wanted from life. She was practical. Kind. Patient. Interestingly, she was also not as prudish as he'd imagined. He ran a finger over his chin and considered the slight acidic taste of her that still lingered on his lips. Their most recent mating had been a thing he'd enjoyed more than he'd endured.

He expected to fall victim to another wave of frantic self-loathing, but all he felt was slow, steady anguish. He suspected that if he concentrated hard enough, he could suppress the worst of it, which was a reassuring sign. His pon farr had nearly abated.

He pulled Sera forward, sliding his right hand under her knees as he stretched his left arm around her back. She was laughably small and petite, and it required only minor exertion to carry her back up the stairs and set her down in his bed. He carefully pulled the meditation robe she still wore closed to conceal her breasts. He briefly considered lying next to her and watching her sleep, but decided against it because he was beginning to like Sera more than was probably appropriate, and it would only make him miss her when she was gone.

He wandered into the next room, which was still a broken battlefield of wreckage, both literal and emotional. The bloody mattress with the torn sheets laid on the floor amidst the rubble of décor. He spent the next hour putting the room to right as best he could. He replicated a replacement for the lamp, though he lacked the skill to repair the hole in the wall that he'd made by hurling the lamp directly at it. He would ask Vedek to see to it before the household staff returned.

When he was finished, he contemplated meditating, but he decided he had another matter that required attention. He traveled down the entire length of the long hallway to his study overlooking the southern entrance to the house. The curtains were pulled back and he discovered it was the middle of the afternoon.

He sat down at his desk, powered on his computer, and performed a quick search for Professor T'Lona's research laboratory at the Vulcan Science Academy. Under the alumni directory, he selected the current year and found Sera's name. As it turned out, the article he'd recently read on theoretical protein modeling had indeed been written by the woman currently sleeping in his bed. He skimmed her other research as well, finding it just as competent and insightful.

He had no doubt she would make a good researcher, and so it was without hesitation that he opened his messaging system and began composing a formal recommendation to the principal investigators of the four molecular biology government research facilities in Shi'Kahr. It seemed foreign doing this for himself, since recommendations were usually a menial task that even Vedek delegated to one of the junior aides.

Before sending it, he considered the optics of the situation. Everyone knew Vulcan's Minister of Science had lost his wife in a temple bombing and only months later, retreated from society for "a period of reflection." Now he was recommending a young woman to former colleagues, a young, unmarried woman who very likely within six months of beginning her term of employment in one of their laboratories would be visibly pregnant. It did not require exceptional logical prowess to deduce the true motivation behind Soren's personal recommendation, which is why he deleted three of the four intended recipients to focus on one. There was no need to involve more people than necessary. 

He would first make the request of Sylkar, the head of a laboratory in the Gel'Tor complex in downtown Shi'Kahr that studied the optimization of in vitro protein synthesis. Not only did Sylkar's laboratory most closely align with Sera's expertise, Sylkar owed Soren a unique brand of favor. Almost exactly thirty-two years earlier, when Soren had been principal investigator of a government funded molecular motors laboratory at the Vulcan Science Academy, Sylkar had _strongly_ recommended a young woman for a research position in Soren's laboratory. Soren had been hesitant at first, since he had not required any additional personnel at the time, but Sylkar had persisted and Soren had finally relented.

T'Vera had proved competent enough, once she had returned from maternity leave, having given birth to a son who would grow to resemble Sylkar to an uncanny degree. She served him well before taking another period of maternity leave seven years later to give birth to a daughter under similar circumstances. Soren paused, wondering what had become of her. Last he'd heard, she was currently serving as an undersecretary of the Federation Science Council.

He made a mental note to follow up with some of his former proteges in the near future and prepared to send the recommendation, adding a private addendum at the bottom explaining that the young woman he was referring to Sylkar's lab was not only a talented scientist, but also a personal friend. His last sentence hinted she would require maternity leave soon after beginning her employment but he trusted that would not be any serious impediment to securing her employment. He sent the message and sat back in his chair to gaze out the window, feeling instantly drained of energy. After a minute, he leaned forward to power down his computer, but a notification arrived. He selected it and read Sylkar's short reply that simply said, " _I look forward to working with her. When can she start?"_

Content he had fulfilled his part of the arrangement, he shut down his computer without sending a response. There would be time enough in the coming days to arrange the details of Sera's employment and make the necessary introductions. He wandered into the hallway and instinct carried him back toward his bedroom on slow, sluggish legs. He was tired and interested in making a serious attempt at sleep, but Sera was currently in his bed. Would it be wrong to presume he was welcome to share a bed with her? They had not specifically discussed sleeping arrangements in their contract and she had never given her express consent, so he decided it would be better to utilize the adjacent room.

Just as he reached to open the door to the adjoining bedroom, he heard Sera's voice through the wall. "Minister Soren?"

He swallowed, took several strides toward the door to his own bedroom, and opened it tentatively. "Do you require something, Sera?"

"No," she replied. "I just thought I heard something in the hallway and wondered if it was you."

"How long have you been awake?" he asked.

"A few minutes," she answered. "How are you feeling?"

"Fatigued."

She sat up, crossing her legs beneath her. "Being tired is a good sign, isn't it?"

"It is," he agreed. "I believe my pon farr is nearly over."

"I can leave if you want to lie down and rest. This is your private bedroom, after all."

"Stay," he said, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. The slight look of surprise on her face made him hastily add, "Forgive me. That was not an order. You may leave, if you wish."

"If you want me to leave, I can be ready to go in a few minutes, but I will need transportation —"

"Please forgive me again for being unclear," he interrupted, consciously speaking slowly so as to avoid the appearance of being excessively demanding. "I believe I may need to mate one additional time, so you should not leave the premises. I had meant to convey that you should not feel obligated to stay with me in my bedroom until I know whether I will require another coupling."

"Oh," she said, her eyes drifting to her lap. "What if—what if I wanted to stay? Would that be—"

"Acceptable?" he finished.

"Would it?" she asked.

"I would not object to your continued presence, if you do not object to mine."

She uncurled her legs from beneath her body and slid backwards on the bed until she was sitting up against the headboard. Soren joined her, adopting a similar position while being mindful to maintain an appropriate distance between them.

"Are you sure you would not like to go somewhere else?" she asked.

"Why?" he replied, turning to look at her.

"This is the saddest I've felt since I've met you," she explained. "And I think maybe because you forged that bond between us that I'm feeling what you're feeling. I know this is the bed you shared with your wife and there's nothing wrong with wanting to honor this space for her."

"I did love my wife very dearly," he said, his voice heavy with soft undertones. "I still do. But she is no longer alive and there is no logic in evicting you from this bed because she once slept in it."

Sera reached for his hand and to his surprise, he found himself reaching for hers also. He tenderly ran his fingertips over her palm and remarked, "The sadness you feel is not only mine."

"I suppose I am sad," she confessed. "It was not my intention to bring my own emotional turmoil into an already emotional situation. I have never been perfect at suppressing my feelings, or so my mother always said. And I have no experience in trying to conceal them from someone with whom I share a mating bond, because I have never been bonded with anyone until now."

"I am sorry I forced that on you," he said, releasing her hand. "With time and distance, it should fade."

"That is often said about sorrow also, but that is yet to be my experience." She laid her hands neatly in her lap and offered a small nod. He regretted letting go of her hands so easily because he longed for the comfort of her touch again, but he dared not make such an intimate request.

"Would it be a grave presumption for me to ask what gives you cause to feel sorrow?"

She was silent for a long time before saying, "My mother died four months ago."

"I grieve with thee. My wife died four months also."

"I know," she whispered. "Your wife was killed in the bombing of the Kudaya Temple. She was one of the more notable victims, a name that was occasionally mentioned in news stories about the incident. My mother was one of the thirty priestesses there."

Soren was stunned, but he did his best to conceal it. In the various memories of hers he'd experienced during their mind melds, the only thing he'd seen of her mother involved glimpses of an argument she'd had with Sera's father when Sera had been a child. Whatever grief she held over her mother's passing, she'd suppressed it masterfully until now. Soren suspected he'd underestimated this woman yet again.

Sera was staring very hard at an unknown point in the distance and he knew from experience, just as any logical Vulcan would know, that she was fighting to keep a stoic, placid outward composure despite emotions boiling beneath the surface. He yielded to instinct to touch her hand and offer reassurance, but the moment he made contact, her chin began to quiver. She shook his hand away to cover her face just as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"Forgive me," she gasped, twisting away in an effort hide the emotions that shamed her.

"There is nothing to forgive," he insisted, settling a hand on her shoulder to pull her back. "You have seen me in a far more emotional state in these past hours."

His encouragement broke something inside her and soon she was a blur of trembling and sobbing. He cautiously wrapped her in an embrace and was pleasantly surprised when she did not resist. He lightly stroked her cheek and she leaned into his touch, allowing him to meld with her.

The more he came to understand of her situation, the sorrier he felt for her. He drew her closer to his body and allowed her to weep into his chest until she was breathless from her hysterics. When she entered a phase of hiccups, he asked if she would like some water.

"No," she said, sniffing and blotting her tears with the sleeve of her robe. "I only want to sleep."

"Do you want me to leave you alone?" he asked.

"No," she answered quickly. "Please, stay."

"I understand that you would not be here with me now if not for your mother's death, and I am sorry for that also."

She sniffed and gave a short nod. "I am glad that I could help you, but I am sorry that we came to know each other due to tragedy and based on unforeseen mutual need."

He laid back onto the pillows, allowing her to curl into his left side and rest her head on his shoulder. Her dark, messy hair fell over his chest and the dampness of her cheeks soaked into his meditation robe. Soren couldn't be sure how long they laid together like that before eventually falling asleep, but when he woke some time later, he had the sense it was well past nightfall.

His arm felt half-dead and tingled and throbbed from the weight of her body atop it. When he shuffled sideways and freed himself and began massaging his sleeping limb back to life, her eyes drifted open. He ignored the painful prickling sensation in his fingers, caring only to watch her face. She propped herself up on an elbow, shyly leaned forward, and delivered a light kiss to his lips. "Thank you for being so kind," she murmured. 

When she sat back, he saw fresh tears pooling in the corners of her eyes and rather than allow them to come to fruition, he dug deep for the most pleasant thought he could contrive and melded their minds together. She smiled and kissed him again, hesitantly at first but then hungrily. They pulled themselves onto their knees and shed their robes and for the first time since they'd begun mating with each other, she permitted him to fully explore her naked body with his eyes and hands.

He broke away from her lips to begin placing gentle kisses on her throat and chest, and when he took one of her nipples in his mouth, she whimpered and leaned into him, running her fingers through his hair before taking his penis in her right hand to stroke it slowly but firmly. Had this been their first sexual encounter, he might have ejaculated then and there at such an intimate touch. When she hobbled forward on her knees to sit atop his lap, he noticed she was on the verge of crying again. He was about to remark upon this when she lifted a finger to his face to brush away tears he hadn't even realized were there.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked with a cracking voice, stunned that he could weep without being aware of it.

"I want to feel something," she replied, cupping her hands around his jaw to initiate a mind meld. "I want to feel _you_. And I don't want to be alone."

"Then let us be together," he mumbled, gently settling her onto her back before guiding himself inside her. She moaned and bucked her hips against his, never relaxing her grip on his face.

He sank down onto his forearms and began a series of slow, steady thrusts, his eyes trained on her face as his body glided over her soft skin. It was the slowest, most purposeful mating Soren could remember experiencing. They paused several times to wipe away one another's tears and at one point, they lay still for nearly ten minutes locked in a period of passionate kissing and intense bonding, but eventually Sera rolled onto her stomach and urged him to penetrate her again, which he eagerly did.

He released inside of her not long after that and collapsed beside her, feeling slightly dizzy from ecstasy, yet clear-headed. She twisted onto her side and raised a hand to stroke his jaw. He intercepted her motion and caught her by the wrist, drawing her hand to his mouth to kiss it before returning it to his face so she could resume their mind meld. They fell asleep that way, naked and sweating with tear-streaked faces, each of them feeling more at peace than they had in months.


	9. Acceptance

_**Four years earlier:** _

I sat with my hands folded in my lap, hoping my exterior appeared calmer than I felt inside. There was no logic in being so apprehensive about this, since this day had been coming for fourteen years.

To be logical, Veren hadn't specified _why_ he wished to meet with me today after all this time, but he was a Vulcan male who had just reached the age of twenty-one. About a year ago, I had perused the available scientific literature and confirmed what I already suspected, based on the anecdotal experiences of acquaintances and peers. The average age of onset of pon farr was 21.2 years, with a standard deviation of 1.1 years. My betrothed was precisely the right age to fall victim to that most unpleasant condition.

So much for my hope that he would develop late and that I might have months or even years before he summoned me to become his wife. Thanks to the contract I'd entered with him at age seven, I had few options for refusing, aside from suicide or ritual combat. I could always ask politely to be excused from such a distasteful duty, but he was under no obligation to release me from the betrothal. And why _would_ he, when his life was on the line?

Still, I could hope. Many people betrothed as children came to informal agreements to postpone or even forgo their marriages altogether. It would be grossly impolite to ask after _how_ they managed such things, particularly regarding the biological demands of pon farr, but people did it all the time.

I'd rehearsed several variations of the anticipated conversation in my head since receiving his message three days ago, inviting me to meet at a local park to discuss our futures. It would be best if I could speak first and make my wishes plain. Ideally, he would agree to nullify our betrothal, but I would settle for postponing our marriage for several decades while I pursued a career in exchange for allowing him the use of my body to satiate his pon farr, so long as he agreed to allow me to use prophylactics to prevent pregnancy.

There was no reason for him to grant this kind of allowance, other than maybe to humor my career ambitions for the sake of eventual marital harmony. All I could do was ask and wait for his response.

"Sera?"

My head whipped around to find a tall man standing directly behind the park bench, hands folded before him. The boy who had been all elbows and knees at our bonding ceremony fourteen years ago had transformed into a well-proportioned young man. I was surprised to find he was _handsome_ , even.

"Veren," I said, composing myself and rising to my feet. I lifted my right hand in the ta'al and added, "Live long and prosper."

He returned the salute and gestured toward the bench. "May I have a seat?"

I gave a subtle bob of my head and made room for him to sit while allowing a respectful distance between us, fighting the urge to remark upon his very altered appearance. Logically I understood I wouldn't be meeting with a seven-year-old boy today, but it never occurred to me to consider him in any other light than the awkward child I knew fourteen years ago.

He barely made contact with the bench when I blurted, "I think I understand why you asked me to meet you today and may I just say-"

He held up a hand, interrupting, "Please, I had hoped to speak first."

My confidence evaporated. I nodded, trying to swallow away the knot forming in my throat.

He straightened himself and posited, "I never got the sense you were all that impressed with me as a child."

"I did not know you," I replied, hesitant about the abrupt nature of this conversation. "I do not know you still."

"No," he agreed, casting his eyes toward his boots.

Thoughts were clearly running through the maze of his mind, and I wondered whether I should capitalize on the awkward silence to insert my request for a postponement of our marriage. Before I could find the courage to assert myself, he said, "I am aware I have no right to ask this of you, but I asked you here to discuss breaking our betrothal."

His statement fell on unbelieving ears. I blinked, carefully considering each of his words in an attempt to verify that he really was asking what I thought he was asking. "You do not want to become mates?"

"I am certain you would make a perfectly adequate wife," he answered, unable to tear his gaze away from his feet. "It is nothing to do with you. And I am aware you are entitled to refuse my request, I only—."

"I consent to your request," I murmured. "I release you from our betrothal."

There was no mistaking the evident relief on his face, though he downplayed it in very Vulcan fashion. He turned to me, studying my eyes and replied, "Thank you."

The sudden shift in my fortunes was making it difficult to concentrate, but I sensed decorum necessitated I inquire about his motives for this request. The tense way he held himself suggested he was anticipating my demands for an explanation.

"If I may be honest, I had hoped you would consent to postpone our marriage," I offered, desperate for him to know he hadn't caused any offense.

"But you still wished to marry me eventually?" he asked, finally turning his face to me.

"I—I do not know. It had been my hope to focus exclusively on a scientific career rather than contend with domestic life. And as I have already said, I do not know you. Perhaps that is my fault for not attempting to form even so much as an acquaintanceship with you in the past few years. I was told as a child that the bond we forged during the bonding ceremony would link our minds, but—"

"You have never thought much about me," he finished.

"No," I admitted.

"Nor have I thought about you," he explained. "I have never really thought about any woman that way. The truth is, I've known for several years that I am drawn toward members of the male sex. I met a man nearly a year ago and he wishes to get married, but I was not free to marry when I was still contracted to you."

"Being attracted to a member of the same sex is a perfectly natural thing. And if this is the case for you, it would truly be illogical for me to stand in the way of your contentment and your future."

"I agree. I hope we may part as friends."

"Gladly," I replied, rising to my feet. "I do wish you a long and prosperous life with your husband, Veren."

"And I wish you well in your career."

And that was that.

* * *

**_Present day:_ **

I gazed out the window at the late afternoon sun, reflecting on a distant memory of my former betrothal. I had felt so free that day, walking home from my short discussion with Veren. The world had been before me back then—I was progressing well in my degree program and my mother was supportive of my ambitions. I had no reason to think I couldn't rise to the upper echelons of the scientific community with time and hard work, completely unencumbered by a husband and all the duties that came with being a wife.

Then my mother had died, my brother had been summoned to live with our father, and my career prospects fizzled without my mother there to broker nepotism on my behalf. And now here I was, completely naked in the grandest house I'd ever visited, fresh off a bout of crying onto the chest of Vulcan's Minister of Science as he mated with me.

As humiliating as the memory was now, I felt strangely unburdened. Not quite at peace, but aware that whatever pain I'd been harboring these last months had been reduced to a muted ache. I twirled my fingers in the shimmery curtain, resisting the urge to wrap the silky fabric around my naked body. I was just pondering whether I would be embarrassed if Minister Soren woke to find me this way when he spoke my name.

It may have been intended as a question, or perhaps a summons to come back to bed. He said it so softly, firmly, and considerately. "Sera."

I did not respond. I wanted to be ashamed of the fact that I was standing naked before him, but he made no remark about my state of undress. He made no further comment about anything at all, choosing instead to join me by the window at a friendly but not quite intimate distance, also completely devoid of clothing.

We watched the horizon for nearly a minute before I declared, "You slept through the night."

"And much of the day, it seems," he replied. "It would appear my condition is largely resolved."

"When will your household staff return?" I asked.

"In the morning."

"I can leave, if you like. I am sure you would prefer privacy to meditate. Or I could remain and assist you in cleaning, so your staff doesn't have a reason to suspect what you've been up to these past days."

"I would be disappointed in their logical abilities if they failed to deduce why they were sent away," he replied. "And you have already assisted me in such a way as to make it impossible for me to ever adequately repay you."

I finally willed myself to look at him. His face was worn and tired, but generally placid and pleasant. Upon meeting my eye, his expression changed and he said, "I should clarify that I _do_ intend to repay you—that is, honor my end of the arrangement."

I cocked my head, studying the lines of his face. There was still visible emotion in him and I suspected it would take time for him to subdue the lingering effects of pon farr.

"I have spoken with a former colleague, Sylkar, who works in the Gel'Tor complex downtown—"

"He studies in vitro protein synthesis," I blurted. "I am very familiar with his work. I even met him once, briefly, at a conference."

The minister's brow furrowed. "He has agreed to employ you."

It took a lot to maintain my composure at this incredible honor and sudden reversal of fortune. "Thank you."

"There is no reason to thank me."

I nodded. "I suppose it is as you said, you did not become Minister of Science by failing to honor your agreements."

"It will be time for end meal soon. Perhaps we could wash and dress and share a final meal together."

"I would like that," I responded, more quickly than I'd intended.

His eyes searched my face in a way that felt most unnerving and I was more aware than ever that neither of us were dressed. We parted ways without another word, both of us instinctively retreating to separate bathrooms. We'd showered together before, but that had been _before_. But before _what_ , exactly?

As the guest room's sonic shower vibrated away the last vestiges of his sweat, tears, and semen from my body, I found myself marveling at the many rapid shifts in our relationship. In a matter of days, we'd gone from being formal acquaintances to reluctant lovers to something that felt approximately friendly, but what was I to him _now_? A guest in his home? The mother of his future child? A contracted mistress? I supposed I was all of those things and yet not fully any of those things.

I took my time, so much so that I emerged from the bathroom annoyed with my own discourtesy. I half-expected I would find him downstairs, fully dressed and sitting at his formal dining room table over a meal that was already growing cold. I pulled the clothes I had worn to his house onto my body with exceptional speed and hurried downstairs, past the mural of watchful eyes, and found the house quite dark and empty.

I tiptoed into the kitchen, semi-startled by the automatic lights that bathed the room when they detected my movement. The kitchen was a monument to impromptu sex. Minister Soren's dish of plomeek soup was still on the table, half-eaten and forming a hazy glaze on the surface of the liquid. The bowl of balkrat I'd intended to place in the reclaimator sat by the sink, crusted over with dried sauce. And then there was the odd, white stain on the counter that dripped over the edge and the memory of his husky voice asking, " _Will you permit me to taste you_?"

All it took was the thought of his tongue rolling over the more intimate folds of my body to send a rush of warmth into my cheeks and a reflexive tug low in my belly. My mind understood our transaction was complete, but it seemed my body wasn't quite ready for the more pleasurable parts of it to end.

I was in the midst of pondering this revelation when I sensed him standing behind me. He made no sound, but I knew he was watching me. I froze, allowing him a moment to stare while I collected myself.

"If you know I am here, why do you not acknowledge me?" he asked.

I glanced over my shoulder and discovered the man I was used to seeing on the news and at press conferences—perfectly coifed and shining hair, a clean-shaven face, and calm, neutral eyes. He was tired, certainly, but far less untamed than the man I'd first met.

"I was considering cleaning the kitchen," I lied.

If he detected my falsehood, he made no mention of it. He breezed past me and set my dirty bowl in the reclaimator. I shuffled to the table and collected the old bowl of cold plomeek soup as he wetted a rag and began wiping down the counter.

"I spoke with Vedek a short time ago," he announced, wringing droplets from the rag into the sink before draping it over the metal divider to dry. "He will return early tomorrow morning. He has your chkariyah in his possession."

The thought of Travek warmed my soul. I sensed a different kind of sorrow hanging over me now, and as erratic as my sweet pet's behavior could occasionally be, there was a lot of comfort in snuggling with him.

"I can send for a car to take you home after we share end meal together, or you are welcome to stay another night."

"I would like to stay," I insisted. I couldn't understand my own enthusiasm to remain in this house, and rather than have him think I was excessively eager, I added, "I would not want to inconvenience Vedek by having to go out of his way to drop Travek off at my home."

"It would be no trouble for him to deliver your companion to you."

"He has already done so much to be of service."

"He is my senior aide," Minister Soren replied. "Tending to my errands is an aide's function."

"You are right, of course," I agreed. "Which is precisely why I had no interest in being someone's aide."

I thought I detected a glimmer in his eyes, but he nodded and turned toward the replicator. We shared a subdued meal virtually devoid of conversation, but there seemed to be a different sort of communication transpiring between us in the form of mistimed glances, slight frowns, and bowed heads.

There were things I wanted to say, but I didn't know what they were. It seemed wrong to just leave things as they were between us, but was this not what we'd both agreed to? We retired to separate bedrooms after wishing each other a polite, "Good night."

There would be no sleep for me. My mind was full, my heart was in knots, and after having slept most of the morning and afternoon away, I was not tired. I thought of trying to repair the wall where Minister Soren had hurled a lamp at it and damaged the plaster, but I didn't trust my skill enough to hope to achieve a decent result. I tried meditation, but I could not settle my thoughts.

The harder I tried to clear my mind, the more aware I became of a bundle of emotions lurking deep below the surface. Rather than ignore and suppress them, I tried my hand at experiencing them, and that was all it took for me to understand that I wasn't just feeling my own feelings, I was feeling the emotions of the man currently laying wide away in the room next to me too. We were both deeply confused and conflicted.

I stood without thinking and shuffled to the door between our rooms. I don't know what I expected to happen, but I waited with bated breath with my ear pressed against the door, considering what would happen if I walked through it.

I could knock and ask him to permit me entry. I could simply invite myself in. But how would he respond? How would I respond? It took nearly twenty minutes for me to logically navigate the likely outcomes and decide the risk of being ordered to leave his room was small compared to the reward of finding a way to settle whatever this was between us.

I didn't know him well, but I understood him well enough to know that whatever happened once I walked through that door, he wouldn't renege on our arrangement—my position in Sylkar's laboratory was safe. And he could send me away now, but he would be back for me in seven years. And even if he found someone else to satiate his needs during future pon farr cycles, then that would mean I would never see him again. I had little to lose.

I reached for the knob, but the door shifted open by several centimeters at my touch. There was a small creak and a moment of doubt, but I collected my nerve and pushed it open all the way. Even in the dim light, I could see Minister Soren sitting up in bed, watching me, like he'd been expecting me to come through the door all along.

Logic told me to leave immediately—I hadn't been invited and not only was this rude, it was a violation of his privacy. Yet somehow, I knew he was amenable to my presence. I inched toward him on slow, deliberate feet, as though I were approaching an injured animal in the wild and needed to be ready to flee at any moment, but I arrived at his bedside without incident.

"I thought you might be tempted to visit me," he finally said.

A knot of insecurity twisted in my gut. I had misread the situation and I was thankful the darkness would conceal the deep flush of green that was burning its way across my cheeks. I stepped back, but his hand brushed my wrist.

"I don't understand," I whispered. "Do you want me to be here? I feel like you do, but I don't know."

"I do not object to you being here," he said slowly.

"That is not the same thing as wanting me here," I replied, pulling my hand away from his touch. "It's like I can sense what you want without being able to detect your actual thoughts, but I can't do it well enough to know what you really want. Not for sure."

"I am sure it is due to the mating bond I forced on you," he mused.

"Is this what a mating bond is really like?" I asked.

"I thought you had been bonded as a child."

"I was, but it didn't exactly take," I admitted. "I have no experience with being able to understand someone through a telepathic link. Which I suppose is why I can't figure out what you want."

"You are understanding me perfectly," he explained. "I do not know if I want you here. I believe I do not want you to go."

A long silence passed between us as we both became resigned to being frozen in a state of confusion and indecision. When he moved to sit up against the pillow, I abandoned all reason and found myself peeling the blanket back from his body. He made no move to stop me, even as I awkwardly slipped in beside him. The fact that I hadn't really thought this through became immediately evident when I found myself unsure of what to do with my limbs. Should I snuggle against him? Stiffly glue my arms against my body like I was lying on a funeral pyre?

As if to mercifully put me out of my misery, he shifted his weight and turned toward me in a gesture that was clearly meant to be welcoming. One of his hands found my thigh and he started to pull it back, but somehow our faces leaned in toward each other and instinct locked us in a soft, chaste kiss.

My hands moved up to his face, an action that became the first volley in a very strange, very inelegant bout of lovemaking. We clumsily shed our clothes and kicked the blankets toward the foot of the bed. It was so different this time, being completely unencumbered by the drive of pon farr, being mentally present and eager and engaged.

He sat up on his knees and seemed ready to roll me onto my back, but I ducked onto my hands and knees and took hold of his lok. An unexpected wave of boldness spurred me to slip it into my mouth. Minister Soren froze and when the tip of his penis brushed against the back of my throat and I pulled the muscles of my mouth to form suction, he uttered a curious gasp.

I'm not sure what provoked me to fellate him, but once I began, I found the way it rendered him powerless almost irresistible. I was completely inept at first, but he was happy to provide quick corrections, urging me to be mindful of my teeth and to grip the base of his shaft more firmly while stroking it in rhythm with my mouth. I hit a neat stride and soon I had one of the most powerful men on Vulcan reduced to a quivering, whimpering mass with only my tongue and right hand.

Though I anticipated he would eventually ejaculate into my mouth, I was surprised by the sudden burst of the alkaline taste sliding down my throat. He yelped and grasped my hair, drawing my head closer to his body. I started to gag but he instantly withdrew himself from my mouth, gripped me hard by the waist, and flipped me onto my back to plunge his tongue into the tenderest part of my body.

His mouth was warm, careful, and attentive. I spread my legs wide and held my breath, almost blinded by the intensity of the sensation. His tongue alternated between slowly tracing along my folds to torrents of quick, firm flicks against my clitoris. Without my permission, my mouth began pleading, "Don't stop!"

He clutched my thighs and drew me closer to his lips and as the orgasm washed over me, the pleasure was almost too much to tolerate. When the spasms finally began to subside, I laid on my back and tried to catch my breath. I half expected to pass out, just as I had after every previous coupling, but this encounter hadn't ended with him releasing sleep-inducing pheromones into me.

I was wide awake and starving for more, desperate to chase the next high of sexual gratification, eager to share my body with him, and craving the feeling of power that came from having a man like him surrender himself to me. He sat up, but I pushed him back and crawled over his chest, lowering myself onto a lok still slick with my saliva.

My efforts to be in control of the situation were somewhat hampered by my poor coordination and inexperience, but he was utterly unfazed. He steered my hips with his hands, instructing me in the art of turning him into my most devoted servant. It took longer than I expected, but a crash of wetness eventually came, causing him to cry out and hold me firmly in place while he coped with the force of his orgasm.

My thigh muscles tingled and ached from the exercise and I wanted to flop onto the bed beside him and process what had just happened, but he reached up, cupped my neck in his hands, and guided my lips into a tender kiss. It was the last thing I remembered.

I woke the next morning to the crunch of footsteps on gravel in the driveway below. My eyelids flipped open in panic and I scrambled to free my limbs from the tangle they'd made with his.

"Vedek is here," I hissed, groping in the dim dawn light for my clothes.

Minister Soren was mysteriously calm. There was no sense of urgency, nor any indication he cared to get dressed.

"I guess you don't mind if your aide finds us naked," I chided, scrabbling with the latches of my brassiere.

"Vedek and I are very familiar with each other, but not so much so that he would enter my bedroom without invitation, particularly when he is aware of my recent activities."

"It would still be rude to keep him waiting," I replied, trying to hurriedly turn my shirt right side out.

"Stay."

I stiffened as I pulled my shirt over my head. "What do you mean, _stay_?"

"Stay here with me." The muscles of his face were relaxed, giving his features a classically Vulcan, appropriately neutral expression, but his eyes were cautious and pensive.

"Vedek is here," I stammered. "You were the one who told me he would be here in the morning to take me home."

"I am aware of the plan. I am asking you to alter the plan. Stay with me."

His face gave no clues as to what he was thinking, but I knew what he was really asking me. It would be illogical to pretend as though I didn't.

"I want a career," I insisted. "I have no interest in being the mistress of the Minister of Science. I'm sure it would curry favor in some circles, but I don't think that's the kind of favor I want. I want to do and earn things by my own merit and I realize I had to mate with you to make it happen, but I have to do things on my own from here."

He frowned and nodded, a gesture that seemed done more for his benefit than mine. "Yes, of course."

"So you see it's quite impossible for me to—"

"Then marry me."

I swallowed hard and fought the urge to look away. He was serious. More than that, he was resolved.

"I don't know how to be the wife of the Vulcan Minister of Science."

"I don't think anyone would know how to do such a thing, until they were asked to."

"I don't _want_ to be the wife of the Vulcan Minister of Science," I insisted.

"Is your objection to my position, or to me?"

My mouth fell open, knowing it needed to answer his question but unsure of what the answer really was. I hadn't expected to care for him as much as I did and I certainly didn't comprehend the nature and depth of what I felt. I suspected it would take many months of reflection and meditation to even begin to process the myriad of conflicting emotions this man made me feel. "I thought I had explained that I don't want to be _anyone's_ wife."

"I sense you reject marriage out of a view that any husband you could find would force you to conform to traditional gender roles. I would never want to limit you or place any additional demands on you, other than that you respect me."

It was a very unexpected offer and I found myself poised at a fork in the road, demanding I choose one of two very different paths. I felt paralyzed, caught between the life I'd wanted for so long and the man I'd only known for a short time but suspected I was falling in love with. 

He slid out of bed and approached me. "Will you stay, Sera?"


	10. Sine and Cosine

**_Ten months later:_ **

"It really was not necessary for you to be here, but you are welcome." Volkar said, watching T'Niri carry their infant son back toward the examination room.

"Your wife does not appear to appreciate my presence," Soren replied. "Perhaps it was wrong of me to come."

"It is not logical, but I believe you intimidate her," Volkar explained.

"Quite illogical," Soren agreed.

Soren looked away from his son and studied the wall. He currently sat with his son in the waiting area of the third-floor antenatal clinic in the east wing of Shi'Kahr's main hospital complex. His grandson, also called Soren, was nearly four months old and due for a routine physical exam.

Soren would have never thought it necessary to attend such an appointment. It probably wasn't even _appropriate_ for him to be here, as his presence implied he lacked a certain trust in his son and daughter-in-law to see to the health and well-being of his first grandson, but escorting them to this appointment was the only way he could contrive to be in the east wing of the hospital complex on this particular day.

Interest in his grandson's health was a very poor excuse for his presence and a belief in luck was entirely illogical, but Soren felt fortunate his grandson's appointment had coincided with an entirely separate and highly monumental event that had taken place in this very building only hours before. Now all that remained was to invent an excuse to leave, hope that the real purpose for his visit was still in the hospital, and do his best to find them without drawing too much attention to himself. As it was, he'd already garnered more than a few curious glances from passersby in the corridors. As Minister of Science, he was never able to go anywhere anonymously.

"T'Niri is honored you wished to attend," Volkar explained. "I hope I did not imply she thinks you dislike her. I believe she was simply surprised that you would show interest in our son's routine medical examinations."

"Your mother's passing has made me keenly aware of the importance of family," Soren offered. "And the child does bear my namesake. But I do not wish to cause any disruption. Perhaps I should go."

"You are no disruption," Volkar insisted.

"Still, I am quite busy. Please let T'Niri know I am grateful she allowed me to be present, and I hope all is well with your son. Excuse me."

Volkar thought to himself for a moment and nodded. "I wish you well, father. I shall see you soon."

Soren bowed his head, stood, and strolled out of the waiting room without another word. His eyes scanned the walls for directions and quickly learned that what he sought was directly down the long hallway he was currently standing in. He turned left and took long, purposeful strides.

It was late in the afternoon and he suspected the hospital wasn't currently overburdened with an influx of patients, but still, there were plenty of people noticing his presence. Every healer, every orderly, every hospital visitor that passed him acknowledged him in some way, whether it was a simple arched eyebrow or an actual verbal greeting.

He followed the signs to his intended destination, which ultimately led him through a set of automatic doors to a narrower, separate hallway. It was empty except for one man gazing intently through a window, and his presence alone was enough to make Soren immediately regret this quest.

The man looked up at the sound of the door and a whole conversation proceeded using only raised eyebrows, pursed lips, and narrowed eyes to convey their thoughts. It began with shock, metamorphosed into slow and reluctant realization, and ended with bitter resignation.

"Minister Soren," the man finally said, his voice cool.

"Ambassador Sarek," Soren replied.

Soren's instinct was to retreat, as his presence in this very particular wing of the hospital carried a lot of implications. But turning to depart would only help confirm what the ambassador certainly already suspected. Besides, Ambassador Sarek's presence in this particular wing of the hospital also implied rather far-reaching allegations that Soren suspected his rival would never want revealed.

Soren could plainly see that they each had a shared interest in tolerating the other's presence and then staying silent about what transpired here for the remainder of their lives. So Soren did the only thing he could do, which was to join the ambassador by the window.

The hospital nursery currently held fourteen neonates. Soren preemptively trained his face into the sternest expression he could manage, but his eyes were automatically drawn to the infant in the third cot from the far-left, and upon seeing the tiny being, his heart felt so full he thought it would burst. The identification tag at the foot of the cot confirmed what he already knew, which was that this one was the correct one.

He wanted to smile, but he would never allow himself to. Not in public, anyway. He wanted to cradle her and touch her miniature fingers and commit to memory the features of her face, but given the nature of his relationship with this infant's mother, he knew it would be unwise to try and form an attachment. He had actually signed a contract swearing that he would never attempt to have a relationship with this child, a fact which had plagued him terribly these past months.

The object of his incredible joy and angst was a female, as of yet unnamed, born fourteen hours earlier. A daughter for Soren, and a granddaughter for the man standing next to him. She was of average weight and length with a thin layer of fine dark hair and a bronze complexion closer to Soren's than Sera's. The tag indicated that she had no apparent genetic anomalies and was considered "minimal risk."

They watched her wriggle and fidget in her cot, tongue slightly poking out between a pair of bright green lips, staring blankly up at the ceiling with immature and unfocused eyes. Soren stole a casual look at the ambassador, surprised to see what appeared to be an expression of longing in the man's face. Ambassador Sarek, the contradictory revolutionary who extolled the virtues of highly logical living yet married a human wife, was evidently struggling to contain his emotions. There was a lot Soren could say, but he suspected there nothing that should be said.

"I should take my leave," the ambassador declared, taking a step back and tucking his hands behind him.

Soren was not sorry to see him go, but as much as he disliked this man, they now shared something that could never be unshared. "Live long and prosper, Ambassador Sarek."

Soren thought he detected the tiniest quiver in the man's chin, but it might have been a mistake of the light or a trick of his eyes. "I wish you peace and long life, Minister Soren." He began to turn, but paused and said, "I suppose it needn't be said, but I trust we will not mention to anyone we happened upon each other today?"

"I can think of no reason why anyone need know," Soren agreed. "Even the child's mother."

The ambassador's lips thinned slightly and he seemed prepared to say something else, but instead he took a last look at the baby in the third cot from the left. It caused Soren more pain than he expected, not because he gave any consideration to the ambassador's inner struggles, but because they had both fallen prey to the same predicament—creating a child destined to be a stranger in exchange for seven additional years of life.

It was easy to imagine this man twenty-six years younger, standing in this exact same location, considering Sera as a newly born infant and struggling with the realization he would never be permitted to know her. He could not pity the man, but on this matter, he could understand him. And while Soren had his own unique reasons for disliking him, he suspected Sera's motives for disliking the ambassador were somewhat unfair.

The ambassador's lips turned downward into a tiny frown and for a moment, he seemed to forget himself as he uttered, "I did not know she needed assistance. If I had known she would seek out an arrangement—"

"I believe she wanted to do things for herself," Soren interrupted, utterly unenthusiastic to be Ambassador Sarek's confessor or to discuss the fact that his daughter's desperation had resulted in the birth of a child fathered by a political adversary.

The ambassador seemed to come to his senses. His features smoothed into a model of stoicism and he nodded. "Her mother was always very independent as well."

Ambassador Sarek turned and walked the opposite direction of the doors through which Soren had entered the hallway, giving Soren the privacy to really marvel at his daughter. Insane thoughts began to creep into his mind. He wildly considered asking the charge nurse if he could enter the nursery and hold the baby, but of course he couldn't. Not only did he have no legal right to, not only would it certainly expose the secret he'd worked so hard to keep, but it would also violate the promise he'd made to Sera.

He would have to remain content in the fact that the terms of their arrangement had guaranteed she would permit him to see his child shortly after her birth. It would be on Sera's terms, but she would give him the opportunity. He knew he'd already lingered in this hallway longer than he should have, and every second he remained increased his chances of being discovered, but he did not want to leave her. Not yet.

"Father?"

Soren had been so engrossed in analyzing the features of his daughter's face that he'd failed to notice his son had wandered through the double doors and now stood several meters from him. He blinked and tried to repress instant feelings of shame and shock that his son would find him here. There was no point in trying to deny he'd been caught.

"I did not anticipate you would follow me here," Soren finally said.

"You left your PADD in the chair." Volkar took several steps forward, holding out the device.

Soren took it and tucked it into his breast pocket as his son came to stand behind him. He dared not look at Volkar, but he knew his son's mind was turning over the facts and would inevitably arrive at the only possible conclusion.

"I sense it is impertinent of me to ask, and you are free to refuse to answer, but am I correct in deducing that one of these infants is my sibling?"

Soren frowned, noticing that his son's eyes were scanning the cots and lingered on the third cot from the left. How strange a thing instinct was, that blood could recognize blood in this way.

"I was in a very difficult situation," he began.

Volkar held up a hand. "I believe I understand. You do not owe me an explanation. I am sure you did what was necessary. I only want to know if I will I be permitted to meet him?" He examined the identification card at the end of the third cot from the left and added, "Or her?"

A tiny gasp to his left caused both men to turn and Soren's heart scanned through the entire spectrum of emotion before landing on panic. He had not laid eyes on Sera since the day she'd spurned his marriage proposal and fled his home, and yet now here she was.

She wore hospital garb and looked worn and swollen. Her face bore the characteristic puffiness of pregnancy-induced fluid retention and her belly was still visibly bloated beneath the loose hospital shirt. It had been months since he'd seen her, but she was every bit as beautiful as he remembered.

Three pairs of eyes began to dart from person to person and in an effort to quell the disconcerting terror growing on Sera's face, Soren cleared his throat and said, "Sera, this is my son, Volkar. Volkar, this is Sera."

Sera's eyes were filling with confused tears. "I—I did not think I would, that is, I just came to see—"

"Please forgive us," Soren interrupted, desperate to spare her humiliation but just as desperate to explain. "We were not invited here. We will leave."

Soren started to steer Volkar toward the double doors, but his son would not move. In an exceptionally kind tone, Volkar offered, "I am honored to meet you, Sera, and I wish you peace and long life. To you and your child."

Her face was growing quite pale, but she nodded. "I don't understand why he brought you here. No one was supposed to know."

Both men began to speak at once, but Soren yielded to his son. "He did not invite me here. I found him here quite by accident. I sense that you are ill at ease and I am aware it is not my place to say this, but I am not certain I will ever have another opportunity. I believe I understand what you have done for my father, and I cannot leave without conveying my gratitude to you."

Sera gave a tiny nod, but was unable to look him in the eye.

"And I have no intention of ever speaking of this again," Volkar added. "I am sure you will both excuse me now."

He turned and swiftly cruised back through the double doors. Soren sensed he should follow, but his feet remained glued to the floor.

He and Sera stared at each other for a number of seconds. There was so much he wanted to say, but his mouth seemed incapable of words. Finally she broke the silence. "How did you know I would be here?"

"I have been able to feel your presence in my soul ever since…well, I could sense your incredible distress yesterday. Given the circumstances, it was logical to conclude you had given birth."

"Oh."

"Would it be impolite of me to ask if you are well?"

She shook her head. "There were some complications, but we are both healthy and we are being released to go home within the hour."

Soren lowered his voice, even though there was no one else to hear. "I know the terms of our arrangement permit me to see her shortly after her birth, and I clearly have seen her, but it is my hope you would allow me to see her in a more private setting. Perhaps even hold her?"

A stray tear trickled down her left cheek and she quickly brushed it away. Displays of emotion were considered distasteful in nearly all situations, but even most Vulcans would forgive a woman for shedding a few tears so soon after giving birth.

"Could you come over to the apartment tonight?"

"I would like that."

"I would ask if you knew where it was, but you arranged for me to have it, so I imagine that you do."

Soren didn't prefer to admit that he'd driven out of his way to circle the block of her apartment building on more than one occasion in the past few months in hopes of catching a glimpse of her. "I know where it is." He paused and with a cautious burst of hope added, "Perhaps I could call a car and take you both home."

She frowned a thoughtful frown. "Are you certain you want to risk being seen?"

"I am currently standing in front of a hospital nursery," he replied. "I am already at great risk of being seen. I do not mind being seen if you do not."

She nodded. "I'll come out the end entrance on the ground floor in approximately one hour."

"I will wait for you."

Soren had a linear understanding of time, but it seemed as though time passed more slowly in the following hour than any other hour of his life. When she finally emerged into the pale light of the evening, he directed the car to cruise into the pickup lane and stop directly in front of her. He refused to look at the infant carrier in her hand, as he did not trust himself to conceal his emotions.

He was tempted to remain in the car, but it was clear she felt uncertain about installing the infant carrier in the rear seat, so he exited and walked around the rear of the vehicle to help her. She looked around nervously to see if anyone was watching, but she did not refuse his assistance. The urge to look at the baby grew stronger as he tightened the straps and engaged the safety force field, but he managed to resist.

He held the door open so she could slide into the seat next to their daughter, then helped himself to the seat directly across from her. "Are you ready?" he asked.

She leaned over the infant carrier, doing her best to conceal a tiny smile. "I think so."

Soren had already programmed her address into the navigation of the self-driving car during his long wait, so he engaged the control panel and the car zoomed away from the curb. The odd little non-family was finally alone.

The way she looked at him reminded him of the way she looked when they first met. She stared at his knees and wrung her hands. All he wanted was to set her at ease and extend this moment as long as possible.

"How have you been?" she finally asked.

He wasn't sure how to respond. He was free of the burdens of pon farr and had thrown himself into his work more than ever, but the truth was, Sera had never been far from his mind. "I have remained occupied. I trust your work in Sylkar's laboratory has been to your liking?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"Good."

They arrived at her building a short time later and the trip up to the fourteenth floor of the high-rise where Sera now lived was uneventful. The fact that they managed to enter the apartment without being seen seemed highly improbable, but Soren was grateful.

They were only several steps through the door when a small chkariya came galloping into view, its paws searching for any traction on the slick tile floor and finding none. Soren stepped back, knowing how territorial and protective these small animals often were, but to his surprise, the animal began rubbing its long body along the length of his trousers.

" _Travek_ ," Sera hissed.

"He does not seem aggressive," Soren replied, keeping his voice low so as to avoid waking the baby.

Sera stood back and watched her pet in wonder. "He's never taken to anyone quite like that. I've been so afraid of how he'd react to the baby. A colleague has been looking in on him while I was in the hospital, but I should probably take him outside."

"I can tend to your pet, if you like."

"Travek can be unpredictable with other people," she muttered, though she was clearly considering his offer. "And someone might see you. Can you give me a minute?"

"Of course."

She set the infant carrier on the stiff brown sofa, peered at the baby sleeping within it, and stepped back. "It feels wrong to leave her. Should I take her with me?"

"You will have to leave her eventually," Soren replied. "And you are not leaving her alone. I am here."

Sera balled her hands into nervous fists, nodded, and fetched a leash to escort the chkariya out the front door. As sorry as he was to see her go, even if her departure would surely be brief, he was pleased he would have a few moments alone with his daughter. He knew better than to wake a sleeping baby and would have been content to just sit on the sofa next to her and watch her journey through her slumber, but to his surprise, he found her muted gray-blue eyes staring back at him when he approached.

With slow, uncertain hands, he reached into the carrier and lifted the little being onto his chest. It had been many years since he had done this, but it felt exactly as natural as it had with each of his three sons. Soren feared his heart would shatter at the thought of having to surrender her at the end of the hour.

He took several slow breaths, desperate to compose himself, but he instantly understood this would be more than he could bear. How foolish he had been to agree to father more children. He thought his life in exchange for producing a child would be a fair bargain, but that was before he had held her.

He wanted to set her down before he could no longer control his emotions, but instinct refused to permit it. So he paced the room, stroking her back and petting her feathery black hair and marveling at the sounds of her gurgles and whimpers. A daughter. How fascinating.

Sera returned more quickly than he anticipated and upon finding him holding her child, flashed a very small, very brief, very pained smile. "Did she cry?"

"She has been a model of serenity," Soren replied. "Should I give her to you?"

She seemed conflicted, but shook her head. "She seems content where she is." Sera unleashed the chkariya and shuffled towards the pair of them.

She watched him for a few moments, clearly torn between letting her remain nestled in his grip and wanting to nurture her for herself, but she settled for gently stroking the child's cheek.

"Have you decided on a name for her?" Soren asked.

"No. I thought it would be easier to name her. I thought I would know what her name was when I saw her, but I've thought of many names and none of them seem quite correct."

"You have time," he offered.

"Do you have any thoughts? About a name, that is?"

Soren paused. "You are her mother. You gave her life. You should be the one to give her a name."

A few more moments passed, but just as calm settled over the room, the baby began howling. Sera jumped back, a look of hurt spreading across her face and dark, wet circles forming at her breasts. She touched her chest and winced. "I suppose she's hungry? It has been a few hours since she's eaten."

"Would you like me to leave?"

"Not yet," she murmured. "Unless you want to. You don't mind if I—" She gestured to her breasts.

"It would be illogical to object to you feeding your child."

"She is your child also," Sera replied, shrugging her shoulder to wriggle the top half of her body out of her shirt.

"No," Soren insisted. "I fathered her, but under the terms of our arrangement, I am not her father."

He wasn't sure if he saw fresh tears pooling in Sera's eyes as she took possession of her daughter and worked to get her to latch on to her left breast. Soren felt useless watching her tend to the baby and started to believe that it might have been better if he had left, suspecting that no new mother would prefer an audience as she navigated the trials of motherhood for the first time.

After nearly ten minutes of the child wailing, Sera turned around and exclaimed, "I don't know what's wrong. It was so easy at the hospital when the nurses were showing me how."

"Perhaps it would be easier if you sat," he said, gesturing toward the sofa with one hand as he moved the empty infant carrier with the other.

She took his advice, but her efforts to get her to feed continued to be in vain. The tears finally started to fall down her cheeks and Sera turned to him and proclaimed with a shaking voice. "I did all the research I could. I read every manual I could find. But I can't feed her."

"There is no need to panic," Soren insisted, taking a cautious seat next to her. "She is not going to starve to death in the next hour. Keep trying, and if it does not work, abandon your efforts and try again later."

"I don't know what I'm doing," she sniffed.

"I don't imagine anyone knows what they are doing at first."

"You have three children. You must have figured it out."

"I do have three sons, but I never breastfed any of them."

She gave him a sour look and then tried to stifle a laugh. She lifted the baby onto her chest and closed her eyes. "I apologize for being emotional."

"The state I find you in now is not much different than the state you found me in when we first met. If I could not forgive you for emotionality now, I do not know how I could have ever expected you to forgive my emotionality back then."

They sat together for a while, attempting to comfort the raging baby in her arms. Eventually, Sera managed to get her to latch. Seeing them bond with one another was as delightful as it was painful. He felt himself an outsider and knew that the longer he stayed, the harder it would be when she asked him to leave. When he was sure the baby had fallen asleep, he whispered, "I know we only agreed that I should have an hour with her after her birth—"

"Stay as long as you like," Sera interjected, speaking in a hushed tone.

"I am sure you would like to bond with her and I don't want to interfere—"

"I mean it," she insisted, her chin trembling. "Stay as long as you like. _Stay_."

Soren hesitated and searched her glistening eyes carefully. "If I may as for clarification, do you mean I should—"

" _Stay_." She closed her eyes and shook her head. "I was so foolish to leave when you asked me to stay all those months ago. I didn't know—I thought—I thought I knew what I wanted. And it's not that I didn't get what I wanted, I just didn't know I wanted _more_."

Her emotions were getting the better of her and the baby began to stir in her arms. A strange reflex prompted him to reach out and stroke the back of Sera's hand. "There is no need to be upset. It will only upset her."

Sera closed her eyes and nodded vigorously. He gently took her wrist and pulled her toward his chest and sat silent while she caught her breath. He began to lean back and she followed him, resting her head on his chest while being mindful of the child in her arms.

"Please say something," Sera finally muttered.

Soren swallowed hard. There was nothing he wanted more than to stay here and be with her and watch their daughter grow. And yet the memory of her dashing out of his house ten months ago was still a painful, weeping sore.

"The situation has not changed," he replied. "I am still more than three times your age with three grown sons and a grandchild older than your daughter. I am still Vulcan's Minister of Science. And you are still a junior researcher just beginning your career."

"The situation hasn't changed at all," she agreed in earnest. "But what I want has. Your offer to marry me, to let me be what I wanted to be in exchange for loving and respecting you, was more generous than I initially appreciated. I've spent the last ten months watching my belly grow and then feeling her kick inside of me and all I could think was how wrong it felt without you there. I can see that you want to have a bond with her. And I can't help but think it was wrong of me to want to withhold that connection from you both. I thought it would be easy for you to just not know her. I thought it would be easy for her also, because she couldn't miss what she never knew."

"I cannot deny that I am exceptionally fond of her," he agreed, fighting to keep his tone neutral. He didn't bother to inform Sera that he was exceptionally fond of her child's mother as well.

"I went into this arrangement thinking about how I was raised, and how my father wanted nothing to do with me. I thought it would be simple for you to give her up if you never knew her, and I thought it would be easy for me to bring her up on my own."

Soren frowned. He disliked the man, but part of him felt a duty to correct the record on Sera's father and relate his suspicion that Ambassador Sarek's separation from her had been more difficult than she was led to believe, but he sensed now was not the correct time. "I suppose it is easier for _some_ men," he finally said. "I thought it would be easier for me."

"Then won't you stay? Even if just for her?"

He wasn't sure how to respond. People would certainly talk if he suddenly announced he was taking a wife, a much younger wife who was the mother of his newly born child, a child whose existence could be easily traced back to a conception that coincided with his sabbatical ten months prior, a sabbatical which had come mere months after the death of his previous mate. He had taken such care to ensure his arrangement with Sera remained a secret and on more than one occasion, he'd felt grateful that she'd had the logical presence of mind to reject his offer of matrimony and preserve their secret.

But he'd also spent many idle moments longing for her. Whatever relief her refusal might have caused, it had caused far more grief and loneliness. The truth was, he was more than content to stay for _both_ of them, despite the minor political, social, and familial damage he might incur.

He knew Volkar would certainly accept her. His youngest son would likely hold a neutral opinion and his elder son had been raised well enough to at least be outwardly polite, despite whatever private misgivings he might have. We was so grateful to T'Mona for raising each of his sons in a way that would cause them to accept her replacement, even if only for their father's sake.

And so Soren was very willing to stay. But he knew her feelings were speaking on her behalf and he sensed that taking her up on her offer would mean taking advantage of her current scattered emotional state.

"I know I'll never replace the wife you lost," she continued. "And I—"

"No one can replace T'Mona," he interrupted. "Just as no one could replace you. You are two different people who have been integral to two different parts of my life. And I must confess that from a logistical view, you and I are more well-suited than she and I were. We share the same profession and interests. We are both ambitious."

"Then why do I feel like you're about to refuse me?"

"We are compatible in many ways," he continued. "Except perhaps in the timelines of our lives."

"You imply you can no longer see the purpose in having another family because I am so much younger than you."

"I am not going to refuse you," he replied after a brief pause.

She sat up slowly and shifted the weight of the sleeping baby in her arms. "Not refusing me is not the same thing as accepting me."

"If I may offer some sage advice that a friend once gave me, I will say that you are recovering from great emotional turmoil and I worry that your proposal is coming from a place of loneliness and fear rather than logic. You may feel differently when your logic has returned."

"That's almost exactly what I said to you the last time we spoke."

"And it was wise advice."

"Do you feel differently now that you are in better control of yourself?”

He did not answer.

"I have had a lot of time to consider this," she insisted. "I didn't ask this of you on a whim. I've wanted to reach out to you these past months, but I thought of the terms of our arrangement and how I promised I would leave you alone."

"I know," he agreed. "But you have just given birth and I understand the hormonal imbalances that come from that are often compared to pon farr. I wonder if in time, you will come to regret asking me to stay, once you have regained control of your logical faculties."

She looked away, but he could plainly see he had deeply wounded her. He hated to do it, but it was necessary.

"You are not wrong when you imply I am afraid to be alone and to raise her alone," she finally said. "But it is wrong to say that I only want you in my life to assuage my fears. I care for you."

Soren nodded. His PADD buzzed in his breast pocket, and he reached to silence it. He had been due to meet with Vedek nearly an hour ago, but he suspected his intuitive aide would deduce where he was.

"Do you need to leave?" she asked, staring at his shirt.

"Not yet," he replied. "May I ask a favor?"

She gazed at him with doleful eyes. "What is it?"

"The offer I made ten months ago remains valid. I only ask you take adequate time to fully consider it. Give it a month, and if you are truly resolved, then I will be with you in any way you like. We can get married, or not. You can continue to work in Sylkar's lab, or not. You can be a typical politician's spouse, or not. We can stay in this apartment, or you can both move into mine."

Her brow furrowed. "That is…quite logical. And very generous. Probably more generous than I deserve."

The next three hours became among the most content of Soren's life. He tended to the baby while she saw to her personal hygiene, he commiserated with her over the difficulty of changing a diaper on a squirming baby whose size made her seem impossibly fragile, and he prepared a meal for them both while Sera fed her again. They set up the baby's cot in Sera's bedroom and discussed which of them she favored more, both agreeing that excepting her dull gray eyes, she mirrored her father in almost every way.

She talked of her research and her colleagues and he talked of his work and his new grandson. They were friends again, though Soren couldn't help but wonder whether there would be any permanence to it. His PADD continued to vibrate at regular intervals, but he wasn't ready to return to the world beyond the apartment on the fourteenth floor and the petite woman with the untamed hair and the newborn baby who he loved more than he might have imagined.

They were well into the depths of night when Sera finally submitted to her exhaustion and drifted off to sleep on her couch while Soren was in the midst of walking back and forth with the baby to calm her mild distress. He covered Sera with the blanket from the back of the sofa and moved the low table so that he could place the baby's cot right next to where she slept.

It took several minutes and false starts for him to finally set his daughter in the crib next to her mother and when she began to fuss at being laid down, he very nearly picked her up again. But she quickly calmed herself and soon was sleeping right alongside her mother.

His PADD buzzed in his pocket for the fifteenth time that evening and he knew he could ignore it no longer. He watched them sleep for a few moments more, then summoned all of his strength and turned to walk away. He did not know when he would see them again, or under what terms, but it was not his decision to make. Leaving was a gamble, but staying was impossible.

As the apartment door closed behind him, he found himself wondering if there was any logic to be found in any part of his present situation. He loved a woman he barely knew, a woman so very like him but so very determined to exercise agency over her own life. He wondered whether their lives were like sine and cosine waves, perfectly identical but mistimed so as to intersect paths at pre-determined points, yet always guaranteed to separate again for long intervals.

He did not know. What he did know was that she could not come back to him until he left, and as he stepped out into the darkness of that warm summer evening, his heart was full of as much hope as it was uncertainty.


End file.
